Swan Siren
by SoSaysL
Summary: "Our story may seem typical at first." Drosselmeyer murmured, "but soon it shall become dark, dangerous, and devastatingly gorgeous." His tragedy would be a perfect one, filled with something for every taste: romance and drama, undercurrents of mystery and intrigue, subtle horror and heartwrenching sacrifice. The only question is, do the characters have other plans? AU
1. Act 1: Mirage

Here are a few things before we begin: I do not own Princess Tutu. I'm pretty sure we've both got this figured out.

I should probably let it be known that this is my first fanfiction, although I love to write. Reviews are loved and appreciated. If you like it, please review. If you don't, review anyway.

_"Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again." C. S. Lewis_

**Prologue**

"I shall write a tragedy," Drosselmeyer said to himself, "the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful tragedy that has ever been written!"

He considered the images of the four dancers captured before him on turning gears. Finally, after decades of research, he had created a fool-proof plan for his tale. It had required dedication, deliberation, and planning, but Drosselmeyer knew that the end result would be worth it.

It would be perfect. There was no chance this could go wrong.

Examining the red-haired girl sleeping fast in her bed, he exclaimed happily, "How woeful and yet exceedingly exciting that you shouldn't know!"

Drosselmeyer then looked at the dark haired girl and white-blond boy sitting outside peacefully together. "The destruction of what you own knows no bounds, fair prince…and my dark swan."

Finally, with a wide smile Drosselmeyer contemplated the dark haired boy practicing leaps across the dance floor. "Tragedy itself is manifested in your existence, my dear, helpless knight."

The gears began to turn more and more quickly as Drosselmeyer prepared himself.

"I don't always write stories." He murmured, "but when I do, they are devastatingly gorgeous." There would be no turning back. Not anymore. The story was about to begin.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Mirage**

The incessant chirping of the birds woke Ahiru, but she lay in place for five minutes, savoring the feeling of just having woken up.

That was, until she remembered ballet class.

"I'm going to be late! I have to hurry!" She hurried as quickly as she could to the door.

It was then that the room darkened. The usually comforting room that Ahiru loved so became a place of stark white lines and undefined darkness. She shuddered and turned the doorknob. Pushing on it, she discovered that it was unopenable.

It was then that Ahiru felt the first flash of genuine fear.

A deep voice cackled. _Poor Ahiru. She's nothing but a clumsy, naïve, bumbling little girl. She tries her hardest, but cannot dance with grace. If only…_

Ahiru saw, as if from a vision, a beautiful red-headed girl standing before her. The girl wore a fitted white dancing costume and slender pink pointe shoes. Atop her head rested a small, delicate crown. Ahiru knew who the girl was. The Swan Queen.

"Odette." Ahiru breathed.

The girl smiled in return.

_If only she could become something better, something brighter, something more beautiful…_

Ahiru looked down, ashamed. "I couldn't! There's no way! I'm fine as I…I am…"

_Deep inside, you know that isn't true. Ahiru, little duck, will you make a deal with me to become a gorgeous swan?_

Ahiru couldn't help herself. She wanted to be the graceful vision before her so badly her heart ached. And yet, she refused, stubbornly holding on to her deeply-held conviction that self-pity was worthless.

"No. I don't want to. I already said, I'm fine as I am."

_Your help is needed. Along with your new form will come powers you cannot imagine._

"What's the deal? Who needs me?"

_You will find out. Trust me, this involves no harm to yourself._

Odette began to dance. She was breathtaking, every movement exquisite. Odette's features reminded Ahiru of her own, if they had been molded perfectly. They were the features of a perfect porcelain doll. If Ahiru could change her fate, would she?

Almost against her own will, Ahiru cried, "Yes! I want to be Odette!"

Odette's form dissolved into a sea of white weightless swan feathers floating towards Ahiru, who lost herself in the unforgiving whiteness. _Yes, little duck…yes, you made the right choice…for me, that is._

* * *

Trees swayed gently in the breeze. The clouds seemed as if they could stand still for an eternity. Rue closed her eyes, enjoying the perfect weather.

Mytho, beside her, seemed unusually pensive today. He gazed off into the distance, ignoring the concerned look she gave him.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes."

With a pang of regret, Rue remembered the special pointe training session that was about to start in fifteen minutes. She didn't want to leave, but she had to.

"I've got to go, Mytho. See you soon."

He didn't reply, which made her uneasy, but duties were duties. She entered the building running. Quickly, she found the changing room and put on her practice clothes.

When she tried to leave, she found that the doorknob was jammed. A light tap on her shoulder was enough to make Rue whip around in shock; she knew that not only shouldn't the door be jammed, but she had made sure there was no one in the room before she left.

To her surprise, Rue found a lovelier version of herself smiling back at her. Mesmerized, Rue said slowly, "Wha…who are you?"

"Svanna." She wore a sensual black costume and matching black pointe shoes, her hair done in a neat dark bun.

"Rue… I know what you want. I know you're worried for Mytho. I know you want to be the best prima ballerina that ever lived. But mostly, I know you want power. Power to keep those you love safe. Power to protect those who need it and punish those who are deserving."

Rue's eyes widened. How could she know…so much?

Svanna came closer. "Mytho's in terrible danger. There are people who want to take his heart and use him for their own benefit. People who want to kill him."

Rue's breath caught in her throat. "I would do anything to protect Mytho. I love him."

Svanna answered, "Then allow me to help you. I have powers that you can dare but dream of." Then, seeing the skeptical glint of Rue's eyes, she said quietly, "How do you think I got in here? I can manipulate the story."

She extended an ivory palm. Rue hesitated, but somewhat recklessly she took Svanna's hand.

Svanna disappeared in a crowd of whirling black feathers. Rue stumbled backwards, but the feathers had enveloped her completely.

_Perfect, simply perfect. Proceeding as planned… _Rue heard a voice from beneath the shadows as she lost herself in the darkness.


	2. Act 1: The Amazing Mr Fakir

_"There is beauty, not only in wisdom, but in this dazed and dramatic ignorance." G. K. Chesterton_

**Chapter 2: The Amazing Mr. Fakir**

Rue's eyes fluttered.

Images came to mind of a girl named Svanna…and why did Rue feel a vague sense of foreboding?

Rue thought for a moment, and she came to the conclusion that she really needed to get to her pointe class. Luckily, she wasn't too late. Even if she had come an entire half-hour late, it was unlikely she would be chastised very much. After all, Rue was the best dancer in the advanced class and an aura of mystery was fitting.

Rue smiled at the thought. In the mirror she saw herself as she completed her warm up. Rue remembered Svanna again…why was the girl so unsettling? Was it how closely she resembled Rue, and yet evoked another association entirely?

Rue almost fell from her arabesque with shock. She knew where she had seen Svanna before.

_Odile_. _The alluring black swan._

* * *

A bruised and confused Ahiru awoke on the floor of her room. She remembered something to do with a voice speaking, and then Odette had appeared, and then…

She brushed the memories away. What really mattered was that she needed to get to dance class. She ran as quickly as she could out the door and down the halls towards class.

She burst through the door unceremoniously. "I'm so sorry I'm late! I slept a bit too…hey, I mean, never mind, I'm just late so I'll just come in I guess, and I'm really sorry! I didn't mean for…yeah." Ahiru babbled.

Instead of a dozen girls practicing their dance combinations, she found a dark haired boy leaping across the floor. He caught her gaze mid-air and landed lightly, almost like a panther. Ahiru recognized him as Fakir, one of the best students of the advanced class.

He shook his head. "Moron." His voice was abrasive, and his green eyes were sharp. "If you're late for class at this hour, you might as well not go at all. It's almost over by now."

Ahiru froze with shock. Wasn't this her classroom? Had she, being the bumpkin she was, opened the wrong door? "Mr. Fakir, I'm so sorry," she said quickly, unsure how to address him but finally deciding on being formal. "I've interrupted you and everything and…I guess…if it's so late…I'd be really embarrassed if I walked into class this late…can I practice…here?"

Fakir gave her a long, suspicious look, and then turned away sharply.

"I guess that means yes! Thank you, Mr. Fakir!" Ahiru almost sang. Walking over the barre to warm up, Ahiru wondered why she had accidentally entered this place instead of her classroom. She could've sworn that she knew where it was before she opened the door…

"Hey. Straighten that leg. You've got the strength. Use it." Unaware that he had been watching her, Ahiru endeavored to execute each movement as flawlessly as possible.

Fakir studied her for a moment, and then turned away. "Idiot. You look like a frog." Ahiru felt her cheeks redden slightly as she clamped her mouth tightly shut, careful not to stick her tongue out.

After about fifteen minutes of dancing, she heard him say, "Keep your core together, moron."

Ahiru found that he was right. It seemed much easier to her now to penche downwards from an arabesque. She focused on her center, but to her horror she tipped over too far forwards.

As the floor rushed towards her, Ahiru felt a pair of strong hands lift her into the air. Her arms automatically formed a circle above her head as she smiled at the sudden weightlessness.

The ground came beneath her feet much too soon, and Ahiru found herself staring into Fakir's green eyes.

"You've got talent, you moron," he admitted, casting his gaze downwards. "You just need a good teacher."

Hardly daring to believe it, Ahiru nodded eagerly. "So can we meet at…um…after dinner at…seven o'clock each day, Mr. Fakir?"

It was obvious he not been expecting this, but he looked thoughtful at the suggestion. "The times for advanced classes change sometimes, but I think I'm free today and for the next two days. I'll have to check about Friday."

His usual demeanor took over again and he looked sullen, almost as if he wondered why he had agreed.

"Moron. It's Fakir." He turned around and left without another word.

Ahiru blinked. Had he just called her a moron? Again? Already she could guess at his two favorite words: idiot and moron.

And yet she had secured five dancing lessons from the incredibly accomplished Fakir! Just the thought made her heart soar. She returned to the barre and practiced with extra passion.

"I won't let you down, Mr. Fa- I mean, Fakir!" Ahiru said happily to herself. "You'll see!"


	3. Act 1: You Look Like an Ostrich

**Chapter 3: You Look Like an Ostrich**

Ahiru lightly tiptoed to the door, which stood ajar. _Should I walk right in? Should I stand for a moment, and then peek in...or would that be weird? Does he already think I'm weird? What do I do now? What was I going to do, anyway? _

She cast aside these thoughts with her usual blithe cheer and finally skipped into the practice room, humming a tune at the top of her lungs in order to make things less embarrassing. She was immediately stopped cold by Fakir's odd look, which clearly said _You are a moron who is beyond the point of idiocy._

Ahiru shifted uncomfortably under his penetrating green-eyed glare until she finally said, "Well? Aren't you going to help me learn how to dance?"

"I'm beginning to reconsider." Fakir said grumpily. "Which means that the answer is actually..." He stopped as he caught sight of her heartbroken expression.

Her ocean-blue eyes became as wide and pleading as she could possibly manage. "Please-please-please-please-please-please-PLEASE-PLEASE-"

"ALL RIGHT NOW SHUT UP!" Fakir shouted.

Triumphant, Ahiru nodded quickly and scurried to begin her warm up.

Fakir wasn't much like the usual teacher. "Moron. You can't even hold your arms right." Fakir said icily from over her shoulder. Her mouth pressed into a grimace from determination, Ahiru struggled to keep it all together.

"You look like an ostrich." Fakir said, not bothering to explain why.

At this, Ahiru had finally had enough. "WHO SAYS I LOOK LIKE AN OSTRICH!" She yelled, thoroughly fed up with his cutting remarks. "And you, Fakir, look like a...a...erm...an alligator... wait, no, that's not an insult...LIKE A HIPPO!"

"So the idiot doesn't know how to insult others correctly." Fakir drawled, sounding downright obnoxious to Ahiru.

"Oh yeah?" Ahiru answered. "Well, I say that you are a selfish jerkface who's a meanie and a weirdo!"

"Such sophistication." Fakir replied.

"You have to be nicer!" Ahiru said indignantly. "And that means no comparing me to ostriches!"

"_An _ostrich. Can't go forgetting our grammar now. Besides, ostriches can do ballet." Fakir said, and Ahiru couldn't tell if he was joking or not. "Haven't you heard of the Dance of the Hours? Ostriches love dancing to that."

"Whatever." Ahiru muttered.

However, after that, Fakir acted slightly more civil towards her. But only slightly.

"ABDOMINAL MUSCLES! HOLD THEM IN!" He shouted out of nowhere, and Ahiru almost jumped from the shock. She could have sworn she saw him laughing afterwards.

"Two words for your turn: reckless and clumsy. Two words for a dancer's turn: swift and strong."

After watching her fail at a double pirouette several times, he finally relented and gave her useful advice.

"Spot your eyes in the mirror, and make sure your head goes around before your body. Once your head turns, your body will follow." Ahiru nodded and tried again, trying to hide her jubilation.

It was half past nine when they stopped. Part of the dark side of the moon was visible through the high windows of the dance room. Dappled moonlight gave the formerly cheerful place a more mysterious feel.

Ahiru was certain that she was going to be aching all over the next day. Although Fakir was a good teacher, he was also a strict one.

"Not bad," Fakir said.

Ahiru beamed.

"Just kidding, that was terrible." Fakir said brusquely, and he made his way out.

Ahiru gingerly walked back to her room. The only thing running through her mind was _I need sleep._ What she wasn't prepared for, however, was the loud fanfare that erupted as soon as she walked into her room.

"Cute little Ahiru! Where was she? Did she just see a handsome stranger who she's tragically in love with? ...but it's tragic because he doesn't love her and she gets her heart broken as she cries at his wedding! How cute! How sad!" Ahiru recognized Lillie's voice at once.

Inwardly, Ahiru groaned.

"Seriously, Ahiru, where were you? We were going to have fun together!" Pique said, suspicion tinging her voice, "And then you disappeared! And you weren't even in class today!"

"Look, she's all tired! Maybe she's going to quit her dream of being a ballerina and become a magician instead! And it'll be so cute because she'll discover that she's not any good at magic either, and besides it doesn't even exist! Poor Ahiru!"

All the voices were making Ahiru feel dizzy. She leaned against the wall for support.

"Tell us! Where were you?"

Ahiru decided that if she didn't tell them, Lillie would continue to make up stories that would not only be completely misleading but also could lead to the start of some unwanted rumors.

"Look, Fakir told me-"

"FAKIR?"

"OHMIGOSH THAT'S SO CUTE AND SAD! If you ever need a shoulder to cry on when you break up I'll be there! I know you'll need it!"

"Fakir, like the number one guy in the advanced class! No way!"

"No wait, maybe it's a gypsy! I think I heard that fakirs do magic! Maybe Ahiru ran into a gypsy who performed magic and she got lost and…and she mistook him for the real Fakir…AND IT'S SO CUTE… She's always so confused and adorable!"

"I was doing ballet!" Ahiru shouted hotly, "and I did NOT run into a gypsy and get lost, and it had nothing to do with ostriches!"

Her friends looked at her, surprised. It was unusual for Ahiru to abandon her trademark cheerfulness.

Ahiru smiled and blushed at the sudden quiet. "I'm just really, really tired. Sorry if I shouted…"

"What's all this about ostriches?" Pique asked curiously.

"I'll tell you later," Ahiru replied, and her friends could not get any more out of her on the subject.

* * *

That night, Rue awoke, her breathing fast and ragged. That place…by the lake…she had to go there. She didn't know why, but she had to go. Inwardly, Rue questioned herself. _Why? What is this for?_

She could see Svanna's smile before her in the darkness. Rue blinked and it was gone.

_I'm going crazy_, she decided as she tiptoed out of the girls' dormitory.

The night wind blew through her thin nightgown as Rue hurried through the woods. How did she know the path so well? She had never been here before…

Rue arrived there at last. The moonbeams on the lake stood still. Rue was struck by the secrecy and beauty of her surroundings.

But why was she here?

Almost as if in answer to her question, Rue felt a tingling sensation along her limbs and a swarm of black raven feathers obscured her vision.

Disoriented, Rue shook her head. Looking down at herself, she recognized a familiar outfit.

Rue now wore Svanna's black dancing costume. She stepped closer to the lake and saw Svanna peering back from its depths.

Completely nonplussed, Rue stood taller. "What's going on? Svanna, where are you?" She yelled aloud, her voice lost in between the trees.

_At last my black swan has arrived. Dance for me, Svanna_.

Rue was taken aback. She had never heard this voice before. It boomed across the lake, making her feel small and unimportant. What was more, she wasn't Svanna. She was Rue!

Rue gasped as she felt her arms moving entirely of their own accord. Her body began to dance a slow, languid adagio.

No! What trickery was this?

Rue tried to open her mouth, to scream something for someone, anyone to hear. Instead, she felt her lips curve in a mocking smile.

Shimmering on the lake was the image of someone…as she danced, Rue tried to make out who it was. As the edges became clearer, Rue saw that it was Mytho. His eyes flickered behind their lids as he lay there deeply asleep. _Wake up_! Rue urged silently. _Mytho, call my name and save me from the dark!_

_Now you know what purpose your dance has served_. The voice boomed again.

Dismayed, Rue understood what the voice meant. Her dance had taken on a beckoning quality. Unwillingly, she stretched out an inviting arm. Every movement she made was enticing, sultry; it was almost as if she was calling him to her.

_Come dance with me, my prince._ This was the message of the beautiful, bird-like girl Rue had become. Dread swept through Rue. Was this actually happening?

She couldn't tell how long she danced. Her eyes were fastened on Mytho, and she couldn't look away. Mytho seldom stirred as she watched him and she was inwardly proud of how innocent he looked, how princelike.

The water rippled and the image vanished. Rue dropped to her knees, her head bowed and all of her energy wasted. _I can't do this_, Rue said to herself, too tired to move, _I can't do this._

Somehow, she staggered back through the forest path and collapsed upon her own bed.

Her own dreams were anything but beautiful.


	4. Act 1: The Aspiring Lion Trainer

**Chapter 4: The Aspiring Lion Trainer**

"Mytho? WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?" Mytho gazed blearily at the livid Fakir before him.

"Cease your shouting Fakir, there's no need to panic."

Fakir grumbled, embarrassed by his own reaction. "You were saying something in your sleep. It was kind of odd. Do you want me to take you to the psychiatrist or something?"

"No. I'm all right." This was a phrase Mytho found himself uttering over and over again. He wondered how many more times he would have to hand out meaningless 'I'm all right's to people who were too concerned about his well-being. _I can't imagine that ever ending_, Mytho said inwardly.

Fakir gave him a suspicious glare and shuffled away.

The swan-like girl from his dreams whirled through Mytho's thoughts. Exotic, and yet so familiar. Sensuous yet delicate. He couldn't get her out of his head.

_Get a grip Mytho,_ he told himself. _She's not even real._

Yet, that night, he found himself possessed by a strange urge to make his way to the lake. Somehow, he knew it was where he had seen the dancing girl. Maybe she'd be there again.

As he was preparing to leave, his roommate Fakir entered. Mytho noted that Fakir was smiling to himself, an odd occurrence. His aura appeared less harsh than usual.

When he saw Mytho, Fakir's eyes hardened. "Where are you going at a quarter till ten at night?" Fakir's voice was equally grating.

"I might ask the same of you." Mytho returned. "Where have you been after dinner?"

To Mytho's surprise, Fakir's cheeks flushed. "That is none of your business. I demand to know—"

"Fakir, I have a compromise. We will both leave each other's comings and goings alone for tonight, shall we?"

Fakir looked downwards, seemingly defeated.

"All right."

No sooner had Mytho exited the building than had Fakir drawn his faithful sword from its hidden compartment and changed into dark clothes that would blend into the night. For Mytho's own good, Fakir would follow him, just in case.

* * *

Rue had been unable to sleep for the past thirty minutes. She had gone to bed extra early in hopes that she would fall asleep sooner and be rid of the compelling feeling within her insisting that she return to the moonlit lake.

She couldn't have been more wrong. Not only did she feel that incessant pull, but she guiltily remembered how she'd avoided Mytho that day. Nothing would hurt more than seeing his guileless eyes. Yet, she hated herself for not going to him, talking to him.

The pull was growing stronger than ever. Rue sighed as she resolved to herself that after she obeyed this pull one last time she would fight as hard as she could against the mysterious force that was controlling her actions, but she would go the lake just this once.

She wasn't a puppet, after all.

Rue sprinted out of the dormitory towards the forest path, not noticing the black feathers sifting around her as she ran.

* * *

Mytho arrived at the lake. Eerily tranquil, he decided. It was too scenic. Something was odd, and he couldn't tell what.

Several meters behind him stood Fakir. Fakir reveled in the feeling of the fresh night air against his skin. He stole a glance at the sword hanging from his hip and leaned into the silhouette of a tree.

What was Mytho waiting for? He was standing expectantly, almost as if waiting for something he knew would come. Mytho paced in a circle before the moonlit lake and then stopped, his gaze extending behind Fakir. Abruptly, Mytho's expression changed from one of anticipation to that of awe.

Fakir turned towards the object of Mytho's astonishment.

_Odile_. This was his first thought. The strikingly gorgeous dark princess had come. Her expression unreadable, she raised both arms like a swan beating its wings.

She began to dance a waltz. However, it was clearly a waltz that needed a partner. Her outstretched, beckoning hand settled in Mytho's direction. As if in a dream, Mytho strode towards her and took her hand in his.

Fakir almost didn't want to interrupt this…this waltz. Mytho and the dark swan princess complemented each other perfectly, and somehow both knew the steps and executed them flawlessly.

Fakir knew what had to be done. Yet something in him hesitated. Fakir wasn't even supposed to be here after all. What grounds had he in ruining Mytho's happiness?

He didn't want to leave, but he didn't want to intrude. So Fakir watched the moonlight embrace the two dancing figures as the night deepened.

* * *

"Ahiru, you've been disappearing somewhere after dinner! Where have you been?"

"Poor little Ahiru! I know where she's been going! She's secretly trying to be a lion trainer, but she can't find any lions! So she goes to the forest and looks for lions but one almost ate her and she had to quit her dream! It's so cute I can't stand it!"

"I do NOT want to be a lion trainer, and I don't like lions!" Ahiru returned.

"BUT I KNOW YOU LOVE LIONS!" Lillie screeched.

"NO I DO NOT!" Ahiru said hotly.

"Or maybe she's going to try out for the production of Swan Lake! She'll try to get the part of Odette but fail terribly and instead she'll be a rock in the background! So sad!"

Ahiru blinked. "There's a production of Swan Lake?"

Pique shrugged. "We're all supposed to try out for it. All the departments are working together on the project, so I'm guessing it'll be kind of different from the actual ballet Swan Lake. Like, the artsy people are making the sets, the drama people are making costumes and choreographing, and the music people are playing music and stuff like that…and the ballet people get to dance!"

The swan-feathered Odette pirouetted in Ahiru's mind. Didn't she make a deal to become Odette? What was all that about anyway? Maybe it was a sign that she could make an actual pointe part if she tried really hard!

Reality crashed. Ahiru had only danced for a year and a half en pointe, just like the rest of the beginner pointe class. The advanced ballet students were skilled pointe dancers, having pointe experience upwards of five years.

A thought came into her head. Perhaps, if she tried really hard, she could transform into Odette! Ahiru knew that as the beautiful swan princess she would have no trouble in getting a role of importance…perhaps she could even dance the main role!

"Thanks Pique! See you soon Lillie! Bye!"

"That was fast." Pique muttered under her breath as Ahiru bounded away with endless energy.

Ahiru found a quiet clearing behind the girls' dormitory where she was reasonably sure no one would find her. She concentrated as hard as she could, keeping Odette in her mind's eye. Her hands balled into fists, her eyes scrunched tight.

It began with a prickling in her fingers and erupted into an inferno. Ahiru gaped at herself. The fluttery white swan costume…the pointe shoes…even the crown, which Ahiru brushed lightly with her fingers…she was Odette.

"No! Stop! You can't!" A desperate cry came from somewhere, and as Ahiru looked down at herself again, she was back in her regular form.

The glamorous upperclassman Rue stood before her, maroon eyes large and fearful. Ahiru was too stunned to say anything.

Rue demanded, "Did you ever hear a suspicious disembodied voice?"

Inwardly, Ahiru weighed whether she should tell the truth. On one hand, there was a chance Rue might think she had been hallucinating. On the other side, Rue seemed to have something urgent to say about something relating to the voice. Besides, Ahiru was a terrible liar. Finally, she nodded.

Rue continued. "Did you get the offer to become a swan ballerina princess with continuous foreshadowing that it wasn't the best idea?

Ahiru looked thoughtful. "Yeah."

"Did you accept?"

Ahiru thought that the answer was fairly self-explanatory.

"Um…yes."

Rue seized her shoulders. Her aura was far from the usual mysterious, knowing demeanor Rue usually carried; instead there was a kind of anxious desperation in her face.

"You can't turn into that…that form again. Trust me."

"Why?"

Rue took a deep breath. How was she supposed to explain everything that had happened? Maybe she had overreacted. Maybe Ahiru's situation couldn't be compared to her own. Yet, some deeper instinct told Rue that this was an unlikely coincidence.

"Look. I also got the same offer, okay? And stupidly, I took it." Rue sighed. _The only difference is that my costume is black. The black swan, Odile. _"Anyway, something happened. I felt like I had to go to this lake, and if I didn't I wouldn't be able to breathe. I went, and I changed into the swan princess…and I was…forced…to dance…against my will, just like…a puppet." Her hands shook. "Twice."

Ahiru watched with a distant feeling of dread. Rue pondered how much she should tell Ahiru.

Decisively, Rue finished. "It's the worst thing in the world not to be able to control your own movements, to feel like a marionette."

Upon saying this, she realized that she secretly enjoyed the power of the dark swan—to summon her prince and dance with him before a moonlit sky. Rue didn't want to admit it, but something in her had relished the elegant allure of her alternate self.

She pushed away the thoughts in her mind and forced herself to concentrate on Ahiru.

"Promise me you won't transform again."

After a moment's pause, Ahiru nodded.

_After all, _Rue thought bitterly_¸even though I agreed to it, I didn't try to become Svanna. She simply…became me._

As the upperclassman gave her a smile that thinly veiled the anguish underneath, Ahiru was struck with the feeling that there was more to the story. Why would Rue be _forced_ to dance at the lake? And all by herself? What was the point?

She looked innocently at Rue. "I'll trust you, Rue. If you say it's bad, I believe you. Thanks."

Her clear blue eyes made Rue uneasy for an unidentifiable reason. "Tell me if anything goes wrong." Ahiru added. "I know I'll worry for you."


	5. Act 1: Fakir's Fan Club

**Chapter 5: Fakir's Fan Club**

Fakir seemed troubled today, Ahiru noticed. His features were sharper than ever and he covertly glanced around, as if apprehensive of some looming figure.

This did not keep Fakir from giving Ahiru his full attention. He demonstrated the proper way to perform more advanced steps. Ahiru found herself smiling as she copied his movements. Who would have known keeping her balance was this easy?

"By the way, I can make it tomorrow." Fakir said gruffly.

Ahiru lowered her arm. "Wonderful!" She responded, thoroughly delighted.

"I think it's time."

"For what?" Ahiru asked curiously.

"Dancing a pas de deux."

Ahiru let out an excited squeal.

"Idiot. Don't get excited. No lifts, except for a few really short ones. Just the basics, that's all."

Fakir guided her to the starting position. "You want to be sure that you know where your partner is at all times. If not…then it's likely for one if not both of you to get a concussion or a broken leg. Try not to kick people in the face, although that goes without saying."

He continued, showing her the fundamentals of partnering, the basic poses, and the transitions from one pose to the next. Ahiru tried to absorb as much of it as possible.

After Fakir had shown her a simple version of the fish dive, he gently brought her feet back to the ground.

"That's enough for today. I'll bet you're feeling dizzy by now."

It was true. Being whirled around had left Ahiru feeling light-headed. She cleared her thoughts.

"Fakir?"

"Mmm?"

"I've always seen you correct me while I'm dancing. I've never seen you dance by yourself except for that one time when you were leaping, and I couldn't help wondering what else someone as skilled as you can do. Can you…can you dance for me?"

Fakir paused for a moment. He looked across the floor, as if envisioning himself there. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he shook his head. _I'll be too late to ensure Mytho's safety. I've got to make sure he doesn't get hurt._

When Ahiru's expression became downcast, he relented. "Moron. Tomorrow" he promised, "I'll dance for you."

She brightened immediately.

As Ahiru entered the girls' dormitory and made her way up to her room, she tried her hardest to keep an eager smile off her face. Pique would be suspicious, she knew, and Lillie would come up with some ridiculous story.

Not that Ahiru minded listening to Lillie's stories, it was simply that she didn't want the extra burden of listening, in detail, to the chronicle of her own role in the calamitous story of two star-crossed lovers. Curiously, Lillie seemed to take especial joy in doomed love.

Ahiru tiptoed to her room and quietly turned the doorknob. To her surprise, there was nobody inside. She frowned and listened to the silence.

Giggles came from behind her.

"IT'S SO CUTE! I JUST CAN'T STAND IT! Little Ahiru's taking dance lessons…from the amazing Fakir! Here, I'll help you write your love letter, and it'll be so cute when he rejects you and you look like a complete idiot!"

"Do you want to join the Fakir fan club? Practically half the girls on campus are Fakir fangirls! JOIN US! You get a free T-shirt! Whaddya say, Ahiru?"

Ahiru's head drooped. They'd found out, as she knew they had to, but she hadn't expected for them to find out this soon.

"Did you guys follow me?" Ahiru asked with a twinge of indignation.

"We had to. You were being too mysterious." Lille explained.

"We waited outside the door and watched for fifteen minutes…and then we got bored and waited behind the entrance instead until you came out. That was a long practice, Ahiru." Pique added.

"CAN YOU GET ME LESSONS TOO?" Lille pleaded.

"No! That'll ruin her chances of spending romantic alone time with Fakir! We can't do that." Pique told her wistfully. She turned to Ahiru as they walked in her room together.

"So, Ahiru, do you want us to keep this secret?"

"It's not really a secret, I guess…" Ahiru's voice trailed off. A bigger secret came to mind; her power to transform into Odette. If she could show Fakir, he would _definitely_ be impressed. Maybe he wouldn't tell her she was a moron anymore! Just the thought made Ahiru cheerful again.

She had no way of knowing that at this moment, Fakir himself made his way towards the lake. Mytho hadn't been in his room.

_Damnit_, Fakir silently cursed. _He's probably dancing with that swan princess. And I'm not there to protect him. How could I have stayed for so long with Ahiru?_

The optimistic red-head had no hesitation in showing her eagerness to dance. He fought the urge to smile as he remembered their pas de deux.

_Fakir, you're a sexy bad-ass dancer knight! You can't just smile spontaneously!_ It was imperative that he maintain his dark yet mysterious appearance and his reputation along with it.

Fakir arrived at the lake. The situation seemed worse than he had expected. Not only was Mytho dancing with the princess, but they had now stopped momentarily and he saw her lips move in speech.

He hurried closer. "Fair prince, you are mine now…"

This was all Fakir had to hear. For anyone to try to take control of Mytho was for the person in question to commit his or her own suicide by Fakir's hands. He took off at a full sprint, his sword unsheathed and held tightly.

_Mytho, I swear, on my honor as a knight, that I will protect you._

The dark princess's eyes widened as she took in a very ferocious Fakir bearing down upon her.

Her porcelain hand moved in a quick gesture sideways and she made a slicing motion in his direction. Before Fakir could comprehend what was happening, a torrent of black feathers surrounded him. He could not see, think, or understand anything as he coughed in the blackness.

Blindly, he swung his sword left and right. He heard light, sinister laughter.

"Be careful, dear knight. You wouldn't want to hurt your prince now…would you?" Her angelic voice rang in his ears.

Fakir had to conclude that she was right. He reluctantly remained in place as he awaited the subsiding of the storm of feathers. When his vision cleared, Fakir took in a dazed Mytho sitting on the ground. The black swan princess was nowhere to be seen.

Mytho's face seemed even more virtuous when bathed in the moonlight.

"What…what…WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Fakir yelled. "This situation _could_ have been _avoided_ if you hadn't come here!"

"I'm sorry Fakir."

They looked at each other for an instant. Fakir shook his head. "Come. Let's get you home."

Fakir sheathed his sword at his hip again. The gallant knight and fair prince walked side by side back to the dormitories.

A pair of long-lashed maroon eyes glimmered behind the trees.


	6. End of Act 1: The Trouble With Chess

_"The mistakes are all there waiting to be made." Chessmaster Savielly Grigorievitch Tartakower (1887-1956) on the game's opening position_

**Chapter 7: The Trouble with Chess**

Ahiru awoke in the stillness of the night. She felt odd and she couldn't quite name why it was so. Perhaps the dancing had been too much; yet, she didn't quite think it was the aching of her muscles that could explain her uneasiness.

If anything, she should have fallen asleep more quickly.

She got out of bed slowly, wide awake, and her footsteps padded lightly to the window. Opening the window, Ahiru noticed that it _felt_ right, somehow, to climb out of the room and perch on the balcony beneath.

Because Ahiru had always been one to trust her gut instinct, she soon sat on the ledge of the balcony, feeling the brisk night breeze against her legs.

Pleased, she rose and began to dance. It didn't matter that she wasn't in class or practicing with Fakir. What mattered was the joyous feeling that carried her.

* * *

As he opened the door for Mytho, Fakir turned for one last look at the night. All seemed peaceful, and he prepared to return inside… …yet, a flash of white caught his eye. Focusing upwards on where he had seen it, Fakir was astonished to observe a girl dancing on the balcony several floors high across from where he was standing. She seemed like an angel fallen from the sky as she swayed to inaudible music.

From where he was standing, Fakir could barely make out that she appeared to be wearing a fluffy white tutu and pointe shoes. As he squinted, he saw the glint of a silver crown atop her head.

Entranced, Fakir allowed himself to watch, his fingers still resting on the doorknob.

"Fakir?"

This time it was Mytho's voice full of concern.

"Are you all right?"

Fakir guided Mytho back into the boys' dormitory. "Yes. It's pretty late. I'm just tired."

* * *

As Ahiru finished her dance, she noticed that not only did a delicate bracelet wrap her wrist, but petite pointe shoes encased her feet and her tutu ruffled in the breeze. She clung the wall in shock; she hadn't even noticed her transformation.

She surveyed the quiet night beneath was no sign of movement, nothing to be seen. How long had she been dancing like this, oblivious to the world around her?

As soon as she climbed back into her dorm room, Ahiru was herself once again. The involuntariness of it put her ill at ease. She was reminded of Rue's tale; what had happened to Ahiru seemed eerily similar to what Rue had described.

Yet, Rue seemed to feel dread as she relived the experience. Ahiru didn't feel as if something sinister had happened. All she could remember was the easy grace of moving on pointe shoes that her alternate self possessed and the accompanying bliss of performing perfectly.

That was all that had happened, right? Something...no, someone...so beautiful couldn't be malicious, right?

* * *

Drosselmeyer watched the red-headed girl as she looked out the window, hands supporting her head. Her usually summer sky-colored eyes, now reflecting the night, shone cobalt blue.

He rocked back and forth in his chair, grinning evilly.

"All that is gold does not glitter, and all that glitters is not gold. Be careful, my dear Ahiru! Don't you dare mislead yourself!"

Although he knew his characters could not hear him, he still enjoyed talking to them. At a particularly devastating plot turn, he couldn't help but explain his genius to them in glee; when all seemed to be going well, it was all he could do not to burst into the story with a triumphant smile on his face at happiness so soon to be wrecked.

And when he talked to them directly, knowing they would hear? He was careful to remain a nameless, mysterious presence for now... later he would appear in greater prominence.

As of now, the beginning had been set up. The king, the knight, and the two queens had stepped into play. Sacrifices, essential to every game, would come later.

And who was he, the creator of the stories? Higher in rank than all the players combined, Drosselmeyer fancied himself the grand chess master. One move could tip the entire balance of the game; Drosselmeyer held in his power the outcome of each and every fate.

The characters believed that they controlled their fates. They didn't. What is a character without its story? What is a story but the fates of the characters?

Inevitably, Drosselmeyer knew, the story must reach a conclusion. The trouble with chess was that there had to be a winner and a loser. Each piece acted for one of two opposing sides.

However, Drosselmeyer had quickly found out from his research that the only way to write a truly potent tragedy was to ensure that there would be no winners.

Figuring out how to follow this simple rule had proved to be the most time-consuming part of his planning. So many authors had made a fatal misstep; the most common mistake, Drosselmeyer had learned, was allowing the characters to take over the story themselves.

He had no intention of doing so. He had completed the first act flawlessly. The middle of the story should pass without too much trouble.

And, as always, then there came the breathtaking finale.

**End of Act I**


	7. Act 2: Audition Jitters

**Chapter 8: Audition Jitters**

Ahiru fidgeted with the number 42 pinned to her leotard. Auditions were about to begin, and she couldn't have been more nervous. Fakir had given her countless tips and tricks for dealing with auditions, but he had also assured her that the most important one was to "Be confident. Even if you mess up, smile."

Imagining Fakir smiling after messing up was like imagining herself not smiling for an entire year. It was possible, but would never happen.

Ahiru had thought that she would have no trouble following his advice with her happy-go-lucky personality. However, she was beginning to have second thoughts. _What if I fail? What if I trip and everyone starts laughing and Fakir facepalms? _

_What if I actually get the part of a rock while everyone else is dancing as a swan?_

The thought was terrifying. Fakir had told her that she had improved tremendously under his instruction. He had added, in a low voice, that he would continue to help her refine her technique after the auditions.

Ahiru had been thrilled. Suddenly curious, she had queried, "Fakir, are you auditioning?"

He had given her a flat look. "What do you think, moron?"

"Um...yes?"

Fakir tapped against her shoulder as reminder to Ahiru to hold her posture higher. "I'll be auditioning, but I don't really want to perform this year."

"Why not?"

"I just don't. Mytho'll probably be the lead soloist."

Ahiru could hardly comprehend that Fakir didn't want to show off his skills to the audience. Then again, she knew that if she continued to bother him, she would not only be called some combination of the names 'idiot' and 'moron' but he would also give her an infuriated glare and become quiet entirely.

Ahiru speculated that he would have no choice but to respect her if she showed up to the audition as the actual Odette and took her rightful place. However, Rue's warning kept Ahiru wary. She wouldn't become Odette...not yet, anyway. It was comforting to know that she could if she wanted to.

She caught Fakir's eye from across the room. Embarrassed and knowing that Pique and Lillie were watching her, Ahiru barely mustered a flustered grin as her cheeks flushed. He returned with an upwards nod.

* * *

Rue adjusted the sleeves of her wine-red leotard. Even though she knew-and she knew that everyone knew-that her pointe skills could not be rivaled by another in the ballet school, Rue still insisted on making sure she looked immaculate before each audition.

For the past few days, she had felt anxious and yet oddly expectant. Svanna had not changed Rue again. Rue felt guilty when she realized that she also felt disappointed.

Mytho had seemed strangely distant from her. His eyes wandered away when she called his name. Her inquiries into his well being were met with a dazed expression or a small, far-away smile. Rue didn't know if she should feel relieved that she didn't have to talk with him or worried that he was acting this way.

Mytho stood next to Rue. His thought had traveled far from the audition at hand. The dark swan princess danced through his mind. Her voice lilted in his ears. Where was she?

He dreamt of her again and again. In sleep she sang to him; in dreams she came. Her voice called to him and spoke his name.

And did he dream again...for now he found that he was wishing that she was somehow here again, even though she shouldn't exist.

Both Rue and Fakir were concerned for him. However, Rue seemed to be inwardly troubled. She didn't express her thoughts as vocally as she had a week ago. This was fine with Mytho; he didn't expect her to hang onto his every word all the time. It gave him more leeway to think.

And Fakir? Fakir had continued disappearing after dinner. Mytho suspected that Fakir had his own problems, just like Rue. Fakir had always been a deeply secretive person, but Mytho had noticed that wherever Fakir now focused his concentration detracted somewhat from his attention to Mytho.

The sweeping Swan Lake waltz began to play as accompaniment to the warm-up for the tittering dancers. Mytho shook his head and forced himself to snap out of his reverie.

Mytho and Fakir were the two most advanced dancers in the class. The only thing that differed was their respective styles and strengths. Mytho excelled in detailed footwork as well as airy movement such as flying leaps. Fakir's style appeared more dark and down-to-earth; he was best suited at quick jumps and fast turns.

Yes, they certainly were different. Mytho took a deep breath. If he performed well today, he would have a shot at the lead soloist role, the character of Prince Siegfried.

He allowed the music to dictate his movements as he prepared himself mentally for the audition.

* * *

"Fakir, it's just that I keep on thinking I'll be a rock…" The audition was over, but Ahiru still felt jittery. She knew the results would be announced next week, but the possible outcomes made her feel queasy.

_Ahiru the rock. Ahiru the failure. Even worse, I won't be on the stage at all. What if they make me a backstage cheerleader for the dancers because I'm so terrible? I'll always be a stepping stone on their way to feeling good about themselves._

Sharp green eyes met hers. "Idiot. You'll be fine."

"You're right." Ahiru plastered a smile on her face. Inwardly, her thoughts were in turmoil. _What was all that with Odette? Maybe my chance to be more than a rock?__?_

_I don't want to be a rock._

"Why do you worry so much?"

"I don't!"

"Yeah, but you were just worrying. Besides, you need to quit listening to your 'friends'. If you're going to be happy, then don't let _them_ dissuade you from it."

"Yeah." Ahiru paused. "You're actually really smart, Fakir."

He seemed amused. "Should I take that as a compliment that you believe I'm smart now? Or an insult that you initially thought I wasn't smart?"

Ahiru felt her cheeks color. "I never meant you weren't smart."

"It's okay. I know what you meant."

For a moment, they both concentrated on their dancing. Ahiru broke the silence.

"Fakir?"

"Yes?"

"Do you remember what you were telling me a couple minutes ago?"

"No."

"Stop teasing me, Fakir!"

"All right, I do remember."

"So, did you ever do that? Hide what you actually were like, I mean?"

He considered her question. Ahiru suddenly felt as if she'd put her foot in her mouth. He probably thought her stupid for asking such a thing. Fakir would never tell anybody what he felt. He wore a constant mask seemingly without effort; what he felt inside could have been anything from surprise to joy to anger and nobody would have ever known what with that perpetual scowl on his face.

What he said next, however, surprised her greatly.

"I did."

Too shocked to respond, Ahiru simply gawked awkwardly.

And?" She prompted, curious.

"And I was a writer. I wrote naïve stories from the innocent head of a child. Such an idiot. I was an idiot."

"You were not!" Ahiru interrupted. "That doesn't have anything to do with anything, but I know you weren't!"

"What do you know about me?" Fakir demanded, flinging his hair back.

"Well…" Ahiru struggled for a response.

"Exactly!" Fakir's tone was triumphant.

"No! You're nice and you're a great dancer and half of the girls I know belong to your fan-club!"

"Please tell me you're not one of them." The disdain in his voice was unmistakable.

Ahiru was glad she had refused multiple offers from all the Fakir girls she'd encountered to join the Fakir fandom. "Of course not! Why would I do that? I can dance with you every day!"

This reminded her of their original conversation. "And…you're so kind that you even help an awkward klutz like me to learn how to do ballet!"

Fakir sighed. "That's what it must look like to you."

"That's exactly what it looks like! Isn't it true?" Ahiru insisted.

He shook his head. "You don't know."

"What! Tell me right now!" Fakir was looking more and more complacent by the second. She realized that her voice had been rising. Anyway, it was too late to back down.

"You never finished your story, anyway. About when you were little." She told him.

"That was because you interrupted me!"

"I was providing support!" Ahiru said indignantly.

"Support? Numero uno on the list of things I _don't_ need!"

Ahiru was growing frustrated. "See? There you go again. Pretending that you feel nothing, and you conceal your true self with a smirk rather than a smile. Good job, Fakir!"

He hesitated. Her words had struck home.

When he spoke, his voice was deliberate. "You're right. I'm a hypocrite."

"No! You just make mistakes! Everybody makes them. I should know—I'm a certified expert." Ahiru answered.

"And you're being insufferable. There you go, talking about yourself as if you're a talentless moron again." Fakir muttered.

"But I am! You tell me I'm a moron every single day! It's only because of you that I'm improving, and that's only a little bit!"

"Not sure if you're doing this on purpose or just being unintentional." Fakir said to himself thoughtfully.

"Doing what?" Ahiru asked innocently.

"Nevermind. Control your landing. You're not a duck landing in a puddle."

Ahiru concentrated on settling into her landings gracefully.

"And remember what I told you about not being a frog." Fakir added, amused.

She quickly tucked her tongue back in her mouth."At least I'm not an ostrich anymore."


	8. Act 2: Results, Compliments, and Insults

**Chapter 9: Results and Compliments Disguised As Insults**

"OHMIGOSH!"

"I can't believe it!"

"Look! I'm a swan! I'm so unique!"

"LOL, just like everybody else."

"Wow, you got such a great part!"

"Thanks!"

Ahiru pushed her way through the murmuring crowd towards the paper hung on the community bulletin board. Crossing her fingers, she hoped that she wasn't going to be something too unfortunate for even her optimistic character to deal with.

Suddenly, she saw Lillie with triumphant evil written all over her face.

"AHIRU YOU'RE A ROCK!"

Ahiru's hopes crumbled like marshmallows deflating.

"Not really. Lillie's such a sadist." Pique whispered into Ahiru's ear.

"I think it's called schadenfreude." Ahiru whispered back.

"JUST KIDDING! You look so cute when your dreams are crushed! It's so adorable!" Lillie giggled. Ahiru found it hard to believe that Lillie could take this much pleasure from other people's misfortune.

Ahiru craned her head. What she saw was no surprise.

SWAN QUEEN: RUE M. DEFARGE

PRINCE SIEGFRIED: MYTHO NATE RIVERS

ROTHBART: FAKIR JAVERT NANAHARA

COURT JESTER: FEMIO MELLARK

What she saw next made Ahiru's heart skip several beats.

SWAN QUEEN ALTERNATE: AHIRU DAAE

How was she able to get this part? To be the understudy of the Swan Queen! How exciting and yet utterly terrifying! She would have to learn the entire dance sequence and be able to dance it almost as well as Rue...even though it was highly unlikely that Rue would not be able to perform,

Ahiru knew that this was nothing short of a huge honor.

"So...congratulations." Fakir's voice interrupted her thoughts.

Ahiru jumped. "I didn't think I would get anything! My friends kept telling me that I would be a rock, and I almost believed them...but instead I believed in myself! And it's all thanks to you! Thank you so much Fakir!"

Instinctively, she threw her arms around him in an impromptu hug. Fakir stood there awkwardly, his face tinged with pink as she disentangled her arms and beamed up at him.

"Fakir! Ahiru has something to say to you!"

Sensing danger from the intrusion of Lillie into the conversation, Ahiru wasted no time in saying, "No, it's all right! We'll be going, going away now!"

Fakir shook his head as Ahiru steered Lillie away. Lillie whispered to Ahiru, "You know, I'm kind of psychic."

Although Ahiru highly doubted this, she responded politely. "Really?"

"Yeah, I could tell that you were about to hug him." Lillie whispered fiercely.

"And..."

"After you hugged him." Lillie finished. "And once I could tell that it was about to rain when I saw the first light drizzle of raindrops." Lille said defensively.

Ahiru had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing. Pique appeared out of nowhere behind the two girls. "Both Lillie and I are 'village maidens', whatever that means. Good job Ahiru, Swan Queen!"

"Don't say that, I'm just the alternate."

"But she still gets to practice Odile and Odette's steps! Pique, do you think that Rue won't be able to dance the part, and then Ahiru will have to do it, and then she'll trip off the stage and into the audience and then her dancing career will be ruined and IT'LL BE SO ADORABLE!"

"That wasn't even a question!" Ahiru protested.

"Maybe." Pique said brusquely. "I wouldn't count on it not happening."

The three girls caught sight of a slender figure walking alone. Even from a distance, Ahiru recognized Rue.

"Wonder how she feels about her spot being challenged by you, Ahiru?" Pique asked.

"Oh, I'm sure she knows she's so much better than me. I'm nothing at all really, just a beginner and definitely not special!"

Another taller figure approached her. _Mytho_, Ahiru thought, recalling the other most skilled boy in the advanced class besides Fakir. Mytho seemed to be saying something to Rue. From what Ahiru could see, Rue's reaction did not seem to be a calm one. Rue's entire body stiffened as she whirled to face Mytho. Her shouted response was loud enough for Ahiru to hear."What do you mean, we should spend some time away from each other?"

Mytho's inaudible reply only seemed to rile her up even more. Rue turned and fled.

As her friends tittered, Ahiru couldn't help but wonder why Rue had been so upset as to forsake her continually calm demeanor. Even though the entire ballet school knew that Rue and Mytho were boyfriend and girlfriend, Rue should have been nicer to Mytho about his request.

Ahiru watched Rue's figure fade away as she raced back towards the girls' dormitories. Being naturally cheerful, Ahiru could not help but congratulate herself on her own good luck on landing the alternate role.

Rue should be just as happy, if not happier; after all, Rue was the Swan Queen.

* * *

Ahiru stepped into the rehearsal room, jitters rocking her stomach. The first rehearsal was about to begin. What if the casting director took one look at her and said that he had made a mistake?

What if he decided that her skills were best suited for being a rock?

She anxiously stood on her toes, then lowered her heels. As she unconsciously repeated the cycle, she noticed Rue staring at her.

"What's she doing here?" Rue demanded of no one harshly.

"He made me your alternate." Ahiru answered quietly. "I'm supposed to be here."

Rue looked as if she could be sick any moment. She opened her mouth and closed it again. Finally, she threatened, "Don't you dare get in my way."

Ahiru shivered even though the room wasn't even vaguely cold. Maybe this wasn't going to be as fun as she had thought.

Fakir entered. He shot Rue a glare that could have scorched through metal. Oddly enough, Rue didn't seem to be cowed. Ahiru felt as if she had been caught in the middle of a staring battle between two pairs of eyes.

_He suspects me_, Rue thought. _I bear too close a resemblance to Svanna to escape his notice. He probably thinks we have some kind of connection. Besides, he never really liked who I was anyway; he probably thinks of me as Mytho's bitchy girlfriend._

Rue boldly sent Fakir a withering look. "Looks like someone couldn't get the role of Prince Siegfried." She said tauntingly.

This didn't seem to faze him. "Looks like someone else wasn't good enough to be the Swan Queen all by herself."

Ahiru blushed as she realized what he meant and both striking green and indignant maroon eyes turned on her.

"Oh I'm not any good, really. I can't even dance very well. I'm just a beginner. You're so much better than me, Rue." Ahiru continued with her self-depreciation until a new voice shouted loudly.

"All right! Today's the first rehearsal, so we're going to just talk about some basic rules for our practices and block out the beginning. Before all that, you have ten minutes to warm up. My name is Autor, and I'll be the main choreographer for this ballet." The dark-haired Autor wore thick glasses and a confident expression.

The warm-up flew by quickly. Ahiru was certain that nobody had seen Mytho slip in until after the warm-up was finished. Mytho sent her a small smile, which she was sure to return.

After Autor had finished explaining the rules, which included things such as 'always be at attention', 'do not sit down, eat, or drink in the rehearsal room', 'be quiet', 'no complaining', 'no making faces', and a host of other requirements, he began to choreograph Odette's swan transformation.

Most of it, Ahiru saw, was him moving Rue and Fakir from one spot to the next as he decided which would be best while Mytho and Ahiru stood at the sides.

He would play the music over and over again with different arrangements. After forty-five minutes, the first three minutes were roughly choreographed.

Ahiru knew that she should have felt bored, but while she watched Rue and Fakir dance, she couldn't be. They were both so skilled; Rue's bourees en pointe tiny and precise, Fakir's arm movements sweeping and powerful. Ahiru sighed as she watched. Would she herself ever be so graceful?

Mytho whispered lightly in her ear, "Ahiru, be ready to take the place of Rue. As the alternate, you may be asked by Autor to dance in her place at random."

Ahiru nodded gratefully, thankful he had told her so that she could memorize Rue's steps.

Sure enough, after five minutes Ahiru heard Autor say, "Swan Queen, step out for a moment. Swan Queen Alternate, where are you? Take your place."

Ahiru made her way to the far left of the room and a slow, sad melody began as Ahiru walked with small steps to center downstage. She copied what Rue had done-although she was sure it couldn't be half as good-until the music became suspenseful and rose in short bursts.

Fakir spun out of nowhere. _He's perfectly suited for this_, Ahiru thought as she twirled out of his reach and slid into an arabesque.

After a couple more rounds with Ahiru as Odette, Autor had Rue dancing again.

"You were very good." Startled, Ahiru blinked at Mytho.

"Really?"

"You've got that quality that Odette has. That innocence." Mytho said matter-of-factly. Ahiru's ears became red.

Rehearsal ended an hour afterwards. "Check the community bulletin board for the next rehearsal. You are dismissed." Autor announced, scribbling furiously in his notebook. Ahiru could see that he was taking down notes and making drawings in blue ink.

As everyone filed out, he called, "Swan Queen Alternate, stay. I want to talk with you."

Ahiru scurried next to him as he peered at her over his spectacles.

"I had my doubts about you." He told her unapologetically, "but you exceeded my expectations. In another production, we might cast you in the corps de ballet. This is an opportunity for you to study the performances of highly skilled dancers to develop your high potential. I will be blunt; it is highly unlikely that Rue will not be able to dance in the performance. You are not nearly as skilled as she is. However, you will find that practicing the technically challenging role of the Swan Queen will improve your dancing tremendously."

His speech was riddled with so many complements disguised as insults that Ahiru found it hard to respond. "Thank you for this chance." She murmured.

Autor nodded briskly. "It is our duty to help each dancer reach his or her best. I look forward to our production. Good day." He made it clear with a curt nod that she was expected to leave.

Hardly able to believe her good luck, Ahiru bounced away happily.

"What did he tell you?" Rue's sharp voice cut into Ahiru's exuberance. Ahiru hadn't noticed that Rue had been waiting outside the studio for her.

"Me? Oh, um, nothing. Just that this is a good opportunity and you know, stuff like that." Ahiru's chattery, self-depreciating talk was seeming to come in handy very often. She smiled at Rue innocently.

Rue's maroon eyes narrowed as she stalked away.

**[A/N] As always, reviews are loved. **


	9. Act 2: A Red Rose

**Chapter 10: A Red Rose**

**The Overly Dramatic Appearance of Femio**

At their next lesson, Fakir's overall mood seemed to be satisfied. "See? I told you the rehearsal would be okay." He told Ahiru smugly.

Ahiru tilted her head. "I'm not sure. Hopefully it's going to be. With any luck, we'll get a happy ending for the ballet. I do so love happy endings. "

He adjusted her arm so it curved directly above her head. "Of course." His expression darkened, as if he had thought of something unpleasant.

Ahiru looked up at him, determined to find out what was going on. "Fakir! What are you thinking about?"

"Oh, nothing." Fakir answered nonchalantly.

"You are! You were thinking about something. Now you have to tell me what it is." Ahiru remembered how he had told her about his stories he had written when he was little. "Does it have something to do with your story writing?"

Fakir looked at her with something like guilt in his emerald eyes. "No."

"Yes! You have to tell me!" Ahiru stood en pointe, glaring at him.

Fakir relented, softened somewhat by her insistence. "All right." Noticing Ahiru's expectant face, he continued, "Anyway, when I was little, about my stories... There was a point when I realized that sometimes, what happened in reality would coincide with what I wrote." Fakir paused.

"And?" Ahiru prompted.

"Well I would write a small story about a boy who dropped his ice cream on the pavement, or a girl who sat outside and drew pictures, or whatever caught my fancy. When I walked outside, I would see...these exact same people...the same boy looking forlornly at his lost ice cream, the same girl drawing, and many others, exactly as I had written."

Ahiru nodded, gazing at him earnestly. It seemed to become curiouser and curioser...

"So I tried a grander experiment." There was that regret in his voice again. "I wrote of a snow storm that buried a sleepy town for three days. I knew I was making a mistake as I wrote it, but I was so _curious_...That night... I bet you'll guess what happened. We couldn't go out for three days. The snow blocked us in for so long...food almost ran out, and we were weak from hunger when it ended. That was when I knew there was something fishy going on. Afraid of affecting my own life, I began to write complete fiction. Of course, I would always write happy endings. Something told me that in another world or worlds, they all existed in some reality just like my own."

"The knight protected the prince, and the prince saved the princess. Everyone lived happily ever after. So many of these kinds of stories. And there were so many variants of the same tale! I wrote them all. As usual, the little me was a total dimwit. I had no idea."

Ahiru bit her lip to keep from interrupting. Fakir seemed to always blame himself for everything, she noticed sadly.

"So, I went to the town library to find out more about stories and how they were written. It was a small, cozy place, but there were so many books! I would read and read. There was a certain kind of story that caught my attention. I bet you'll guess what genre_ that_ was."

Ahiru racked her head. Clueless, she shrugged.

"Tragedies." The word was harsh to Ahiru's ears even in Fakir's smooth voice. "I hated them, but the damn things stuck in my head. When you read something that ends happily, it becomes a resolved, harmonious thing that you can close easily. Another chapter in a great novel. You get involved with any story, but with a tragedy it becomes something jagged that you hide away inside yourself; it's as if something has shattered and you can never put it back together again." Fakir began to speak more urgently, almost forgetting Ahiru was there.

"And when our town was attacked by…these huge, dark birds…thinking of the stories, I tried to write myself a happy ending…for me, for my family...but I couldn't get thoughts of those tragedies out of my head…I wrote of manufactured bliss, but my thoughts…something different entirely was going through my mind, even though I desperately wanted to defeat those evil creatures...and…"

Fakir took a deep breath. He had already said way too much. He had already revealed more of himself to this girl than he had to anybody at the ballet school, even to Mytho. He resolved that he had to stop.

But when his eyes caught Ahiru's intent blue ones, he knew he had to continue.

"And I watched as my parents were killed by a murder of ravens. For the longest time, I had tried to write us all a happy ending. But my heart wasn't in it. My mind was haunted. And the worst part is…I didn't pay the price. _They_ did."

Ahiru knew that she had witnessed a part of Fakir that he rarely, if ever, showed to anyone. All she could do was come next to him and wrap her arms around him tightly as she laid her head on his chest. No words could be said.

_How terrible it was_, Ahiru thought. _How sad it had turned out this way._

They stood like that for a while, each leaning on the other. Fakir fought to keep his jaw steady. What was happening to him? He had never told anyone about this before; he had always seen this as a deep character flaw in himself. His smirks had always kept him safe from something like this.

But he couldn't guard himself from the innocence of her smiles.

* * *

Rue was convinced that something had gone terribly awry. She couldn't quite tell what, or how, but a feeling in the pit of her stomach told her so.

As she danced the part of Odile in the rehearsals, Rue was consumed by thoughts of how much better Svanna would be in this role. _You're not Svanna. You hated her,_ she told herself fiercely. _You're Rue._

Svanna surpassed even Rue in ballet. When Rue had danced as Svanna, she had felt as light as a leaf in the breeze. Fouettes had been of no effort; her leaps could take her beyond the clouds. There had been no limits.

Rue found herself missing that grace, that beauty, that limitlessness. She pushed herself harder and harder. Blisters, aches, and strains were a normal part of every dancer's life; yet, with Rue, they became part of finding her dream. With more pain, she felt, she could reach that loveliness.

_Remember that beauty is bittersweet._

Once, guiltily, she had found the clearing behind the girls' dormitory and tried to turn back into Svanna. Seeing no changes, she had tried to transform again and again. At the end of it all, she was Rue. Svanna was no more.

To make matters worse, there was the matter of Mytho.

Mytho!

He had been avoiding her, she knew. In rehearsals, when they danced together, he met her eyes only upon necessity. His hold on her waist was supportive but not warm and passionate; their pas de deux could be called superb in skill but empty in emotion.

In short, their chemistry was lacking.

Rue could not know that Mytho himself was continually plagued by the enticing dark princess. His situation had not improved; in fact, he was worse. Each night, he dreamt of her; each morning, she was all he could see. As he danced with Rue, he wished he could be waltzing with the black swan princess instead.

Mytho had even observed to himself that she would be perfect for the role of Odile. Everything about her suited the black swan's part. Rue, as good as she was, could not come near her level of precision, her delicacy, her expression.

And then he saw Rue's hurt eyes, her quivering chin, her feigned smiles, and tried desperately to make himself feel sorry for her.

He couldn't. Something in Mytho wouldn't allow him to reach out to Rue. He knew that she hurt desperately, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

His better side called him a monster, someone who could not understand feelings. _I do understand feelings, _Mytho replied to himself. _If I don't, then what is this I feel for the dark swan princess?_

The voice in his head was silent.

Throughout the gloom that had settled in rehearsals, there was one reliable source of amusement.

His name was Femio.

Cast as the court jester, Femio took to appearing at rehearsals in outfits that, to say the least, stood out. A particularly memorable ensemble would be the navy-and-green polka dotted leggings paired with custom-made sky blue dancing clogs.

This had earned a raised eyebrow from Autor, but out of amusement at Femio's atrocious clog dancing, finally he had decided that Femio should be allowed to continue his antics.

Femio's hair was always perfectly curled, his nose well powdered, and his eyebrows handsomely sketched.

However, that wasn't all; Femio always insisted on carrying an armful of red roses wherever he went and offered them to each girl he saw. Almost all of the village maidens and swans had received a single rose full in bloom. Most often he was met with a blush and an embarrassed smile as well as a murmured, "Thank you."

Upon hearing this, Femio would declare forlornly that he had taken too much love from this world. It was such a pity, he said dramatically, that no one could ever build up the bravery to approach him...and what was more, this was all his own fault, for being so handsome, so charming, and so likeable. It couldn't be helped; he was born this way.

Indeed, the general attitude toward him among the girls was one of admiration. His romantic gestures were over-the-top, to be sure, but he was decidedly sweet and good natured if a little scatterbrained. A group of girls had even started a fast-growing fan club dedicated to Femio.

Whenever he made an entrance, at least two assistants would scatter a shower of red rose petals over his head with great ceremony. Ahiru, Pique, and Lillie often wondered together exactly how much the assistants were paid for that particularly thankless job.

After she finished a pas de deux with Mytho as Odile, Ahiru made her way to the side of the rehearsal room and leaned against the wall. She noticed Femio next to her, a single red rose in his hand. He wore half-purple half-black tights and a Christmas-tree-topper hat. Ahiru pressed her lips together as she tried not to giggle for the remainder of rehearsal. The knowing titters and laughter from Lillie and Pique didn't do much to help matters either.

As the dancers filed out, Ahiru heard the inevitable trumpet of Femio's voice. She turned to see Femio holding the rose behind his back with a dramatic air. She couldn't help but suffocate her laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

"I tell you, lovely Swan Queen, having this much beauty is a crime. It is difficult for onlookers not to appreciate such grace, such refinement. Oh, the magnificence and sheer splendor!"

His gaze was earnest, and she fought back a blush as he tipped his head back theatrically. Then it hit her, and Ahiru's eyes widened. Femio was referring to himself!

All traces of her previous embarrassment left her as she smiled genuinely. It must be interesting to be so narcissistic. By now the entire cast had stayed in place to watch his fast-approaching monologue.

Before he could say any more, Ahiru interrupted cheerfully. "Thank you so much! I'm very flattered!" The joke was now on him. He had no choice but to nod and present the rose to her with a flourish. As Ahiru inhaled its sweet scent, chuckling, Femio froze and studied her carefully.

His thoughts went something like this: _She's the only one who acts normally around you! She can withstand your supermegafoxyawesomehotness! Hell, she even cracked a joke!_

"I will order a bouquet of roses for you." Femio said grandly. A collective intake of breath came from the girls in his fan-club. "Would you like to accompany me to a delightful cafe this evening?" Femio asked, already knowing the answer. _I hope the poor girl can collect her wits enough to say yes._

"Er...I don't know.." Ahiru answered, puzzled. She hadn't been expecting this.

With a sigh, Femio realized that even she was not completely immune to his charms. "Splendid! Let's meet at the central fountain at six."

Neither of the two had any way of knowing that Fakir's hands had unknowingly clenched into fists.

**[A/N] What do we have here? Femio versus Fakir? **

**Remember that reviews motivate me to update more quickly! :)**


	10. Act 2: Attack of the Fangirls Soon

_"When schemes are laid in advance, it is surprising how often the circumstances fit in with them." William Osler_

**Chapter 11: Attack of the Fangirls...Coming Soon**

"But I don't want to go!" Ahiru said defiantly.

"You have to! Femio specially asked you out to dinner with him! You can't just blow him off!" Lillie told her indignantly.

"I told you, I can't do that …it might make me late for dancing lessons with Fakir." Ahiru answered with a self-important air.

That gave Lillie pause. Then, she grinned evilly at Ahiru. "It's part of the plan!"

"What plan?" Ahiru asked suspiciously.

"O.K., I'll tell you. Firstly, make sure you tell Femio you have lessons with Fakir before you leave. Stress how amazing Fakir is and stuff like that. Arrive just late enough to your dance class to make Fakir slightly annoyed. Say something nonchalantly like, 'I just went on a date, nothing big'. And then, you can say something else about how much you think Femio is adorable, or whatever you want. When you're finished, tell me so I can get myself some popcorn!"

As Lillie clapped her hands in girlish glee, Pique had to admit she found her interest piqued by the idea. However, she also felt obligated to speak out against Lillie's scheme.

"That's terrible advice!" Pique interjected. "They'll both be really mad at her. She'll ruin her chances with them both!"

"They won't be mad at her." Lille said, "they'll be mad at each other. You'll thank me once the fireworks start!"

"I won't do that." Ahiru said stubbornly, crossing her arms. "I don't want to even go to this dinner."

"You will." Lillie said firmly. "And what's more, you're going to look gorgeous."

"No! I _refuse_ to let you dress me up like last time for that one Christmas party. It was terrible! It didn't stop itching until a week later and I was covered in red rashes!" Ahiru protested.

"Here's a deal." Pique said, "Ahiru, why don't you go eat dinner with Femio, tell him you've got to go and then don't say why, and then make your way to the dance studio."

Lillie opened her mouth to defend her original plan, but Pique silenced her. "Ahiru will not mess with people's feelings like you told her to, but she will let you pick out what she wears…and it can't be sparkly, itchy, or put her in any kind of discomfort."

Ahiru sighed. "I want to stress _no discomfort_. I guess it's the lesser of the two evils, so I agree with this plan. Thanks, Pique."

"No problem. Lillie, what about you?"

Lillie looked resigned, but then she brightened. "I'll make her so stunning that…everyone will get jealous! And it'll be so fun to watch the love octagon with Ahiru in the center. You know, I bet that at the end all of them will leave her because they think they have no chance with her, and then she'll be forever alone! Then we can order her a bunch of cats to start her life as a forever alone cat lady!"

"Thanks, Lillie." Ahiru said.

Lillie wasted no time in bustling about the closets of each of the three girls.

"No time to waste! Only an hour left!"

Ten minutes later came the call, "Ahiru, would you wear…a miniskirt?"

"NO!" Ahiru called back.

"Hmph."

"What about seven inch heels? Or maybe five? Even three?" Ahiru shook her head even though she knew Lillie couldn't see her. She was not wearing heels, and although Lillie had asked, both of them knew it.

"Are you crazy? I wear pointe shoes but I swear those heels can kill people!" Ahiru returned jokingly, nevertheless making sure that it was out of the question.

After thirty-five minutes Lillie came out with a heap of clothes. After holding them up to Ahiru's face as she clucked approvingly or disapprovingly, Lillie settled on a pink-and-white floral dress with a matching pink fitted cardigan.

"It's so sad that you won't wear heels or a miniskirt. This could have been much better." Lillie said as she wrapped Ahiru's braided hair around her head.

"That's fine." Ahiru smiled.

"She's not going to some evening gala." Pique said defensively. "She looks pretty good."

"Next time", Lillie promised Ahiru, "you will look even better!"

It was then that Lillie glanced at the clock. Immediately, her manner became frenzied. Ahiru and Pique looked at each other, half-smiling.

"You're late! And for a very important date!"

"It's not a date!"

"Whatever, now shoo!"

Breathlessly, Ahiru sprinted out the door towards the fountain.

When she had gone, Pique told Lillie, "I think you're more excited for this than she is."

* * *

Fakir, leaning against a lamppost as he read a newspaper, was certain that he wouldn't be recognized. Although his green eyes were distinguishable, as was his spiked dark hair, both of those features would be downplayed with his beret and oversized glasses.

_It's not stalking._

_It's not stalking._

_It's not stalking._

_It's… protection. I can't lose her like I lost my parents. Yes, that's what it is. I'm going to be there to make sure nothing bad happens. _He told himself.

He wasn't really sure of his own motives. Why would he want to tag along on Ahiru's dinner with Femio?

Anyway, it was too late to turn back.

Fakir noticed Ahiru running as fast as she could towards the fountain. _About time,_ he thought. _It's two minutes till six_. Fakir was a person who believed in punctuality.

He couldn't stop himself from noticing how cute Ahiru was. She looked especially charming with the pale crimson-colored braids pinned across her head.

Without warning, a hurried girl in a trenchcoat bumped into Ahiru. Apologizing profusely, she gathered her packages from the floor. Ahiru helped her politely out of consideration, her red handbag dangling from her arm as she knelt.

_Wait, where's Femio?_

Ahiru seemed to ask herself the same question as he did. Holding onto her small red handbag, she paced around the fountain anxiously.

_That's what you get for going on a date with Femio_, Fakir thought savagely. _First he asks you to dinner and then leaves you wondering where he is. I hope he never shows up._

Unfortunately, Femio didn't arrive as late as Fakir would have liked.

Fakir spotted him before Ahiru did. Femio strolled up to Ahiru at twelve minutes past six with a small bouquet of apricot-colored roses.

"Oh, woe is me! I stayed too long in the flower shop picking out the right roses for you, and how the time flew! Forgive my heinous offense against you. As promised, you shall have your aforementioned bouquet—only this time, as a peace offering."

Ahiru felt a laugh bubbling within her at his overly dramatic language. She swallowed her giggles and accepted the roses. Femio gallantly offered his arm to her. She took it politely, and together they ambled down the street.

Fakir stayed in place for long enough to avoid suspicion. Just as he was about to trail after Femio and Ahiru, he noticed a group of girls walking in the same direction. This wouldn't have been a strange occurrence had not all of the girls been treading with utmost care to avoid noise. The usual chattering was absent; in its place was secretive whispering.

Fakir skulked closer in an attempt to hear what they were saying.

_"Roses…that girl!"_

_"Who…a 'cute' café… didn't it…"_

_"Planned…for now…be quiet…"_

Eyes narrowed, Fakir pulled on his navy beret emphatically. Something strange was going on, and he would find out exactly what it was. He had no doubt that the girls were from Femio's fan club as he recognized some of them from the lower classes; Fakir had his own fan club, and they were nothing short of incredibly annoying.

However, he had the feeling that this fan club was scheming for something more than being infuriatingly bothersome as usual.

**[A/N] Well, that was a fun chapter. The fangirls are planning something...but what?**


	11. Act 2: Fakir Saves the Day

_"The motto of chivalry is also the motto of wisdom; to serve all, but love only one." _Honore de Balzac

**[A/N] Proud to announce weekly updates!**

**Chapter 12: Fakir saves the day;**

**The adventures of an unnamed furry black creature, a leather wallet, a pack of wolves, and a drinking glass.**

Where are we going?" Ahiru asked. She was thankful to see that Femio was dressed normally (by his standards, although the shades of purple and green he was wearing didn't seem to really go together).

"A small cafe. You shall enjoy it very much, I'm sure. Now, don't be shy, talk on. I know it is exceedingly difficult to utter so much as a sentence in my presence, so I shall forgive you if you feel faint or feel the need to step outside for a moment."

Incredulously Ahiru answered, "Don't worry. I...don't think that would happen." She would be sure to escape as soon as possible without being rude.

They arrived together at the outdoors cafe. Femio was right; it seemed to be a charming place, what with the slender flower vases, quaint aura, and abundance of fresh air. Femio chose a table which was separated from the street passing the cafe by a green hedge.

As soon as they sat down, Femio began to prattle on about how he knew that no one could understand him, and about how the world misjudged him and could not move before the face of his beauty, and so on.

"That's a unique viewpoint, Femio. Now, when do you think we'll start stage rehearsals?" Ahiru was desperate to get him to talk about something else. _I am never going to dinner with him again. What possessed me to do that in the first place? Oh, right, Lillie and Pique._

Femio blinked. Obviously he was not used to being interrupted.

* * *

Fakir was careful to sit down where he would have a minimal chance of being recognized yet maximize his ability to observe. He watched Femio talk on and on as Ahiru's face became more and more annoyed until she cut in sharply.

However, he had also kept track of the cluster of girls. They had spread out to tables nearby. Fakir wondered just what they were planning.

Out of the corner of his vision, he saw a familiar looking girl pass by Ahiru and Femio's table. The trench-coated girl who bumped into Ahiru! She must be the chief strategist.

Of course, Ahiru didn't notice the 'coincidence'. Fakir squinted until he made out a black furry-looking thing, possibly a huge tarantula, in Ahiru's water glass. It seemed to be blocked from Femio's view by daisies in a vase on their table, and the girl probably had to have dropped it into the glass as Ahiru had turned the other way.

Fakir let out a huge breath. Now what was he supposed to do? For now Ahiru was too absorbed in her conversation as she tried to steer the subject away from Femio-related topics, but soon there would be a scene at their table. Maybe it was intended to cause a diversion. Or perhaps it was poisonous. Fakir felt a chill run down his spine at the thought.

The only way to perhaps avoid it could be...Fakir glanced around his table for something suitable. The throw would have to be clean enough to knock the glass clear off the table into the hedge next to Ahiru and Femio or the street outside. He couldn't break the water glass (that could only make matters worse) so he would have to aim at the base of it with enough momentum to make this work.

Something small and unnoticeable...what could he use? Not the flower vase, not the salt and pepper shakers, not the bottle of ketchup...definitely not the flowers...

It would have to be something he carried on himself...his watch, his beret...his red bow tie...nothing he could think of was suitable.

And then he reached into his back pocket for his leather wallet.

The more he looked at it, the more he had to acknowledge that it was the perfect size for the task. Small and compact as well as having the ideal surface friction to not make a sound as it collided with the drinking glass, the wallet was also the perfect weight to be hurled quickly yet have enough momentum to carry the glass off the table.

Fakir groaned inwardly. _Well, this is just great._

Covertly, he quickly emptied everything in his wallet into his pockets, keeping a couple of coins in it to ensure it would be heavy enough to have considerable force when thrown.

Ahiru ducked under the table to adjust one of her shoes. It was now or never. Fakir looked around to make sure nobody was watching, and with a single swift movement lobbed the wallet directly towards the water glass.

His aim was perfect. The glass and Fakir's wallet flew off the table onto the street outside with a barely discernible clink. Fakir distinctly saw the large black furry creature crawl away towards the gutter.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Nobody seemed to have noticed; Femio had been too engrossed with his own talking skills and Ahiru now emerged from under the table. Later she would notice her water glass was missing, but it wouldn't be too suspicious.

Fakir was satisfied with himself. _That should get me another stamp on my man-card. Check: save helpless girl from a hairy, possibly poisonous tarantula...or something...using nothing but a wallet...with perfect aim...and be so awesome that no one even notices._

_What else do they have planned? If that was it, I'll be surprised. I need to be on the lookout._

It was then that he heard a girl at a nearby table as she blew a high, shrill whistle. Immediately, about a dozen hungry-looking wolf-like creatures flew from somewhere beyond the hedge towards the cafe. Fakir lowered his glasses, green eyes blazing above the rims.

_Note to self: fangirls are crazy. _

Fakir didn't know what the creatures were supposed to do, but to him they looked exceptionally savage and ready to pounce on their target. And they seemed to be heading straight for Ahiru. Perhaps when the girl had bumped into Ahiru while she was waiting for Femio, she had spritzed her with some kind of wild-animal-attracting perfume. Maybe she had previously obtained something of Ahiru's and had them sniff it; it was possible that when she blew the whistle another girl was supposed to let the creatures go.

Right now it didn't matter what the purpose of the plan was: it could have been intended to embarrass Ahiru, distract Femio, disrupt the date, cause general chaos in order to distract from another event, give Ahiru several cuts and scratches, wound her severely, send her to the Emergency Room, or even put her in mortal peril. What mattered was that Ahiru was in an amount of danger.

Instinctively, as the wolves bounded over the hedge, Fakir leapt in front of Ahiru with his hand on the hilt of his sword. His suspicions about the intended target were confirmed, and he did not hesitate to draw the sword and use its blunt edge as a tool to clobber the dogs away from Ahiru.

Fakir was careful not to kill any of them and so avoided using the tip of his sword and drawing blood. Although this made it made his job much more difficult, he still dispatched them with great efficiency. None of them could make so much as a scratch on Ahiru, who sat spellbound in her chair as Fakir's sword wove a silver net around her.

Within minutes, almost all of the wolf-like creatures were lying on the ground unconscious. The remaining few had decided that Fakir was not to be messed with and they skulked away.

_Another stamp on my man-card. Check: saves helpless girl from pack of vicious wolves…without killing any of them out of respect for the sanctity of life…with such awesomeness that people have no choice but to watch._

Indeed, every eye in the restaurant had turned towards Fakir. He suddenly noticed that both his glasses and beret had flown off in the melee, leaving his identity exposed for all to see.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of clapping. Everywhere he looked, people were clapping…for him. Suprisingly, the waiters had put their trays in order to engage in the thunderous applause. He was even getting a standing ovation from people on the street.

Well, he might as well play along with all this attention. Turning to Ahiru, Fakir bowed grandly.

"Thank you, Fakir." Ahiru said gratefully, annoyed with how high her voice sounded in her ears.

"No problem." He answered huskily, his faithful sword already sheathed.

Ahiru stood there with her lips slightly parted, and unconsciously Fakir leaned in towards her. They were close enough to each other to make Femio feel nervous.

"Well, that's that! So sorry you had to endure that, Ahiru. Next time I shall find a better spot." Femio yanked on Ahiru's arm until she was forced to follow him out the door, her blue eyes still locked on Fakir.

The entire crowd of spectators was silent with respect as Fakir laid down more than ample pay in exchange for his glass of water and glided away.

**[A/N] I must admit, that scene was fun to write as well. Fakir is quite the gentleman.**


	12. Act 2: Beauty is Pain

_""Beauty is truth, truth beauty,"—that is all_

_Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."_ _excerpt from _Ode on a Grecian Urn _by_ _John Keats_

**Chapter 14: Beauty is Pain;**

**Psychological trauma, conflicting versions of beauty, and the return of Drosselmeyer.**

Even when Mytho and Rue were next to each other, they were totally unaware of each other's inner demons. Mytho couldn't bring himself to tell Rue, or Fakir, or anyone for that matter, but he still dreamt of the dark princess each night. Where was she? He knew she existed. She had _shown_ him she existed. Why did she haunt his thoughts so?

Mytho had only seen her in person for a couple of nights. She might have been some hallucination.

But she was flawless, seamless, and absolutely ideal. No one and nothing could compare to her.

Not even Rue. He had noticed that Rue seemed to be colder towards him than usual. Mytho knew Rue very well. He knew that her halcyon mask concealed some form of internal tumult.

Yet, she had seemed to calm down after the initial rehearsals. It was a good thing, too, because Mytho had been starting to feel very guilty that he couldn't make himself comfort her.

Mytho had avoided Rue as best as he could. She had avoided him as well. As a result, the entire school was beginning to wonder about their faltering relationship status. Rarely would they be seen walking together or sitting outside, enjoying each other's company.

Rehearsal was pure torture for Rue. Mytho seemed so empty, so lost in himself she couldn't help but question his sanity.

Was it really normal for him to sit by himself near the forest so often as he looked off towards the lake? Then again, Rue didn't think she herself was completely sane either. She didn't have any grounds in questioning him; she had to fix the cracks in her own soul first. Yet, as everyone knows, it is easier to paint a mask over a deep rift than undergo the tortuous process of trying to heal. That was exactly what Rue did.

She didn't allow herself to break down. Perfection was beauty and beauty came with a price. As Svanna smiled before her, Rue bit back her tears and waited for the shivers to subside.

The closest she had ever come to breaking was that time after the audition when Mytho had suggested to her that they spend more time away from one another. Just the thought made Rue feel like shattering something delicate.

Was it that his heart was elsewhere? Did Rue mean nothing to him? These were painful thoughts that she couldn't allow herself to dwell on.

Instead, she threw herself into her dancing even more. She was going through pointe shoes at nearly three times her usual rate. Every morning, every day, each night she went to the same practice room and danced when she wasn't at rehearsal or class. She danced until she couldn't feel anything, until she knew that her feet were in what would have been agony if they weren't numb.

She skipped lunch and sometimes dinner; she had no need for food. Internal drive needed to keep her going if she was to be the best. The next morning, she got up and repeated her routine over again. Svanna mocked her in the mirror, taking Rue's place and showing her how inadequate she was.

Rue heard whispers in her head and embraced them gladly. She couldn't listen to her own mind any longer.

_The only person standing in your way… is you._

It was too much, all of it, Rue decided. She felt as if she were about to break from within. No one would have the smallest inkling that it was about to happen; perhaps Mytho, understanding her better than anyone else, would notice, and then…

But he didn't understand her at all anymore.

Rue felt tears and waited patiently until they disappeared. And then she resolved that she would go see Mytho and try to figure out what was going on between them. She had to know what he thought behind those blank amber eyes.

At about six-thirty, when the sun was preparing for sunset, Rue stopped by Mytho's usual spot, where he could often be found sitting under a peaceful oak tree near a slender white gazebo. Sure enough, he was there with that far-away look in his eyes.

"Mytho?"

"Yes, Rue?"

"I wanted to ask you something."

"Mmm?"

"Do you love me?" She asked, her voice small and unassuming.

Suddenly Rue's heart lay before what had the potential to become a sharp knife upon her soul. She had never felt so exposed, so open to being hurt, so vulnerable.

Mytho found his breath sucked out of his chest in a great whoosh. Of course she had to go and ask a meaningless question like that. The dark princess twirled before him in his mind and he allowed his gaze to settle in the distance.

"Rue, I'll tell you this; love is relative, just like everything else. Not everything's black and white; you have to think about the gray in between. When you ask me if I love you, I'm not sure how to respond. To tell the truth, I'm not sure what I feel for you. I…"

"So you don't love me." She interrupted, her breath shaking.

"Rue, listen to me. I never said that…"

"You don't love me."

"Rue, you're taking this the wrong way."

"You never loved me."

"Rue, you can't think like this. Not in absolutes."

Rue allowed herself a shaky sigh. "You're not sure what you feel for me."

"I'm glad you understand." He returned calmly.

"I do. I do perfectly. Good day." She nodded with composure.

Rue knew he would notice nothing wrong with how she walked away from him. Yet, she felt as if her soul had been wounded deeply. The thousand cracks in her heart had split into a huge rift. Still, she kept the tears at bay. Her face didn't contain even a shred of concern. Mytho's heart, soul and mind were owned by Svanna, the girl whom Rue could never be.

As soon as she was out of his sight, she broke into a sprint towards her practice room and hurled herself into as many dance combinations as she could think up.

She remembered the first time she had met him, two years ago. Mytho had, oddly enough, seemed have aged little since then. Rue remembered thinking that he was something of an angel, with his pale, fluttering hair and golden eyes.

She had immediately taken a liking to his quiet calmness, his innocence. That had always been why she loved him; he was too doll-like, too virtuous, not to be loved.

Once, on impulse, Rue had asked him if he was an angel.

She had caught more than surprise in his amber eyes as they shifted like the edges of a fire. "Not quite." He had answered lightly. "You must not take yourself too seriously."

Rue had sulked a bit at his words, and then brightened at his smile. Mytho was like that. The thought of such an expression of joy confided to her, something as delicate as Mytho's smile, made Rue feel unworthy of holding something so precious.

The room darkened. Feeling restless, Rue continued with her pirouettes.

_Rue, Rue, Rue. The girl who could never amount to anything. She could not even hold the heart of her beloved._ Rue recognized that voice. That voice had boomed across the lake on the night she had danced as Svanna.

She kept on turning.

_Enter my world, Rue. I am the god of your world, but you may call me Drosselmeyer._

The room spun faster and faster. Determined, Rue kept turning. Her ankle wobbled beneath her and she collapsed in a heap on the floor.

As she collected herself and came to her feet, she saw that she was in a completely different place than where she had been before. She stood in an infinite space upon a gear interlocked with numerous others. Brown and black and gray gears of varying sizes stretched out as far as she could see.

Was this the world of…Drosselmeyer? What had happened? What did this…person mean to tell her?

_I shall tell you all you desire to learn and more. I am the creator of your story…_


	13. Act 2: A Kiss

_"Love's not Time's fool […]_

_Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,_

_But bears it out even to the edge of doom_."_ Excerpt from Sonnet 116 by Shakespeare_

**Chapter 14: A kiss;**

**Exactly what the title says. Don't worry, it's not the wrong one.**

As Rue confronted the story-creator, Ahiru had to wrench herself away from Femio's begging as she repeatedly explained that she had somewhere else to be.

"But our dinner was interrupted! Under a suspicious set of suspicious circumstances! Please, Mademoiselle, don't blame me for what I can't change!" Femio's expression became one of utmost sorrow.

"It's not like that! I just made a promise to someone, and I have to keep it!"Ahiru cried defiantly.

"You also made a promise to me!" Femio returned with an air of self-entitlement.

"I didn't even say I would go out to dinner! I just did it because… because…" Ahiru realized how callous it would sound to finish the rest of the sentence with something along the lines of _my friends made me do it and I don't even like you and your overdramatic quirks anyway_. She had to be nice about this.

"I'm so sorry. Forgive me, Femio. I've got to go."

Femio shook his head as Ahiru ran away towards the ballet school.

"WATSON!" He called, with an upwards gesture of his hand. A portly assistant appeared from around the corner, bearing two tubs of rose petals. Femio gave a spectacular leap into the air and landed on the carpet of swirling rose petals.

His date had been ruined. Not only had Ahiru been attacked by a random pack of wolves for no particular reason, but some hipster with a beret and red bow tie—who turned out to be Fakir—had pulled out a sword and single-handedly saved the day.

And Femio couldn't stand being upstaged. That Fakir! Maybe he had even planned the entire thing so he could swoop in and be Prince Charming. How nefarious a scheme that would be…he was probably congratulating himself right now. Unless…

Fakir was meeting with Ahiru! No wonder she had been in such hurry, no wonder he had always silently watched her with that soft look in his eyes, and no wonder they had leaned towards each other that way!

Femio ground his teeth together as he stood from his rose-petal couch. He couldn't stand for it. The one girl who could act normally around him was _not_ going to be lost to some wannabe hipster dancer knight sword-master who sashayed off into the sunset dramatically. Femio was the _only_ one who could dramatically sashay off into the sunset.

But for now, he would be certain to find out exactly where Ahiru was going…

* * *

Ahiru quickly changed into her practice clothes in one of the girls' changing rooms and then sprinted towards her meeting rendezvous. Fakir hadn't arrived yet, so she began to warm up at the barre in her pointe shoes. When her muscles had warmed after about five to ten minutes, she heard a familiar sharp voice.

"What are you doing? That plié was horrific. Your legs looked like spaghetti. Try that again." There was Fakir, a tall silhouette leaning against the doorway.

Ahiru sighed happily as she ensured that her legs did _not_ look like spaghetti. Good old Fakir was back. She felt as if some comment relating to the events of the previous hour was necessary.

After another bout of tendus, pliés, and relevés, they moved to exercises designed to strengthen her extensions. Ahiru _hated_ this part (there was nothing like wobbling on one leg while trying to gracefully extend another) but recently she had come to almost enjoy practicing at it.

Silence was alien to Ahiru, so she filled it. "Thanks again for fending those...those _things_ off. I didn't know you could use a sword like that."

Fakir came closer and lightly guided her arms into a more graceful position. "I fence in my spare time. I wonder why you were attacked...Perhaps I misjudged the situation. Nice penché. Don't let your shoulders drop."

Ahiru's jaw set in determination as she leaned forward, balancing on one leg and raised the other as high as she could. She couldn't reach a 180 degree penché, but she would be content with what she had worked up to.

"No, no, no…I'm really grateful. I'm sure it was just an accident." Fakir marveled at Ahiru's trusting, innocent nature.

"I don't think so… Anyway, full turnout! Don't forget to breathe!" Fakir told her, half-encouragingly and half-sarcastically. Their conversation trailed off into silence as Fakir pushed Ahiru's ankle higher into the air, making sure that her foot was pointed all the while. Ahiru grimaced in pain as she mantained her position.

"Don't lean over too much! Weight in your center!" Fakir reminded her. Ahiru tried to obey, but instead her standing leg wobbled.

She felt the tip of her pointe shoe collide with something. Immediately, her expression became worried. "Fakir, did I just kick you in the face?"

"No." Fakir returned weakly. "No. Of course not." His nose had just been painfully whacked with a pointe shoe that had about the hardness of a brick, but he wasn't about to show it.

"What was it, then?" Ahiru asked curiously.

"Oh, um...just the wall." Fakir answered.

Ahiru sighed in relief as Fakir massaged his nose.

"Anyway, about that random pack of wolves? Are you trying to say that I have enemies?" Her tone was joking. Ahiru, coming out of the penché, held an arabesque for a shaky second and came down.

"Yes." With a shock, Ahiru saw that Fakir was being completely serious. "It may be best to avoid public exchanges. I will protect you if needed, but I don't think that this _attack_ was intended to harm you severely. It was just intended to disrupt your date. Side developés now. I expect about eight from you."

By now Fakir was watching with a critical eye as Ahiru complied and extended her leg to the side, counting the number of times she did so. "It wasn't…I mean, I didn't think anyone would…wait, what? What number was I on? Oh, right...I think it was three..."

Seeing Fakir's superior look, she regained her composure. "Oh, I know what happened. That entire thing was…so you could be like..." Here she imitated his voice. "Look at me, I'm all mysterious and sexy."

"Did you just say sexy?" Fakir gave her a sideways glance.

_Did she just say that? Hell yes, another stamp for my man-card!_ Fakir said to himself.

_Did I just say that? What an idiot! _Ahiru said inwardly. _Stupid Ahiru!_ She could only imagine the mortification she would suffer if Lillie found out about this.

Throughout the combinations she performed afterwards, she could still sense his self-congratulatory air.

"OK." Fakir said, still smug. "Now, to warm up your working leg, practice a couple of pirouettes. Catch yourself on the barre if you really need it."

"I want to practice fouettes!" Ahiru protested. "I'm no good at them. Rue can do, like, 16 at once without breaking a sweat, and I practically fall down after a couple!"

Fakir sighed. "Fine. You can practice them. Just don't expect _me_ to help you."

Ahiru looked at him with large, pleading blue eyes. Fakir crossed his arms defiantly. She received everything from eye-rolls to 'hmph's to exagerated sighs, but after a minute he relented.

"Whatever."

Ahiru gave a small squeak of joy and rushed to start. After the first attempts, it became clear that she desperately needed help with it. Fakir stepped in to try and hold her on balance despite his not-irrational fears that he would be kicked in the face again.

"It's got a rhythm!" Fakir told her, exasperated. "It's not just whizzing around as fast as you can!"

Ahiru bit her lip and tried again. She _would_ make it to where Fakir didn't have to remind her about these things.

"Are you as good at sword fighting as you are with dancing? Which do you think you're better at?" Her voice came out in short puffs.

Fakir chuckled quietly. Only Ahiru would ask a question like that about things that hardly mattered and yet, to her, meant everything. "I don't know. It depends."

"On what?" Ahiru returned petulantly. Before he could answer, a more important question came to her. "Oh! About today! I'm really happy you were there, Fakir, but why did you decide to come in the first place?"

_Damnit. What do I say now?_ Fakir hesitated as he held Ahiru on balance while she kept turning. And, being endowed with a flair for the dramatic, he knew exactly what he would do.

Just as she was rejoicing that she had finally caught the rhythm of the turns, Ahiru felt her wrist caught in Fakir's grip as he let go of her waist. Her entire body was whirled around in the opposite direction of her turns, and by the time she was able to recover from her dizziness and comprehend what was happening, her weight was completely in his arms.

_Another check on my man-card: respond to question with an epic kiss._

* * *

Femio had quickly figured out that if he was to watch the happenings inside the practice room, he would need to crouch next to the wall-length windows so as not to be seen. He watched as Fakir entered and corrected Ahiru's technique.

_Dancing lessons! I should've known. That's why Ahiru's been getting so much better as the Swan Queen. Even Autor's been impressed by her sudden increase in ability. It's not just because she's been practicing; she's been taking lessons from a master._

More dancing...more dancing...Ahiru trying to do fouettes...surprisingly, she'd become much more skilled at them...

Femio watched in horror as Fakir jerked Ahiru out of her turns and pressed a single finger to her lips. A shiver ran down Ahiru's spine as Fakir's mouth crashed down on hers.

Femio just couldn't watch from the tragedy of it all. He needed to order another couple of tubs of rose petals to fall into, because his woes seemed to be increasing exponentially.

_Nothing like seeing your love interest kissing another guy._ Femio turned away, seething. _We'll see about this._

It would need more than a tub of rose petals to solve this particular problem.

**[A/N] Thank you to everyone who's been reading and reviewing this story! Hope the chapters are long enough!**


	14. End of Act 2: Heart of the Ticking Clock

**Chapter 15: Heart of the Ticking Clock**

**Drosselmeyer's evil lair is uncovered, Rue pretends to be a statue, and someone (finally!) is concerned for Rue.**

As Femio lay in a bed of red rose petals, sulking, Rue felt that she had suddenly got herself caught in a very, very sticky situation.

"Drosselmeyer?" Rue called, her voice echoing. Suddenly, she felt very small in this infinite darkness, doubtless shrouding an entire universe of gears waiting to turn.

"What's going on?" She had to be hallucinating. Yet, it all seemed so real.

Out of nowhere, her body began to move against her will. She danced, not with the elegant airiness of Svanna, but the passionate desperation of Rue. The feeling of being a marionette, from so long ago, frightened her.

"It is I who have been manipulating you. Tell me, Rue, do you want a happy ending?" That creepy voice asked from above.

He was a sadist who enjoyed watching people suffer. Not only did he do that, but he had _made_ her suffer, if what he said was true. Rue couldn't smother the fear gathering in her heart.

"You'd never give me a happy ending. Why did you give me that form, that beauty only to snatch it away so cruelly? Does that make you happy?" Rue cried back. In the least she could control what she said.

"Yes." His voice was nothing short of demon-like.

Rue screamed, a shrill sound that vibrated throughout the empty space around her. "Help! I'm trapped in the clutches of an evil…an evil monster!"

"That was quite entertaining, but I am no monster." Of their own accord, her limbs settled into a standing position.

She first saw the old man walking through the gears as if it was the most natural thing in the world to leap from one gear to the next. Finally, he stood before her.

He was the most peculiar person she'd ever seen. His multi-colored coat clashed with his flamboyant hat atop long, white hair; his eyes bulged in the manner of a wooden nutcracker and his boots could have been hand-me-downs from fifty years ago.

The thing Rue found most unsettling about him was his smile. Spontaneously joyful yet coldly calculating, it stretched across his face like a very hungry caterpillar. She wanted to back away and run, but her muscles wouldn't move.

The old man laughed. The sound was almost as eerie as his smile. "Scared of me, Rue?"

"I'm not scared." Rue returned defensively.

"Really?" The old man's eyes widened. "Your thoughts say otherwise."

"I'm not your puppet! I'm a person!"

"People can be puppets as well, and puppets are nothing without their puppet master. Once the strings have been cut, a puppet is little more than an empty shell. You have much to learn, Rue."

"I'm not a puppet." Rue repeated stubbornly. "The only person who controls my fate is me."

"You actually believe all that? What are they teaching you in school these days, Rue? Tell me you truly don't believe that you control your own fate. You know it isn't true." Drosselmeyer returned, somewhat conceitedly. "If any part of you has any semblance of controlling any of your fate, it's probably Svanna."

The mere mention of the name made Rue's heart beat faster.

"You've been sitting here in your evil little clock-world laughing this whole time, haven't you? Don't you have better things to do?" It was more a sharp retort than a question.

Drosselmeyer chuckled. "It is, I admit, a little morbid. However, you seem to be the only one with a tragic story right now. Mytho couldn't be happier in his little daydream. He doesn't miss you, and his thoughts are devoid of your presence. And a romance is blossoming…"

He motioned to an upright gear beside him. Upon it flashed the images of Fakir and Ahiru as he fought off dogs for her, as she smiled at him while they danced together, as they kissed with obvious passion.

Rue felt as if a knife had been stabbed through her heart. She should have known that this would happen. How could her story be so agonizing while others were so happy? Fakir and Ahiru were everything that she and Mytho were not. A sudden wave of jealousy for Ahiru overcame her.

"If you are worried that her story is happier than yours, do not fret." Drosselmeyer murmured. "All things shall become tragic in the end. For now she has forgotten about her form of the white swan, Odette. She made an agreement once, and she will not be rid of it...or shall I say, the _curse..._ so quickly. It will not be much longer until it comes crashing back, and I assure you this will come with consequences she cannot forsee."

The burning in Rue's heart abated somewhat. _A curse? What did Ahiru get herself into?_

"What about me? What about Svanna?" Rue thought of how Svanna embodied perfect grace and could not quell the wish rising in her heart to become the dark princess again.

"How much do you know about Mytho?" Drosselmeyer asked.

"Well...he likes dancing, he's very nice to everyone. He's handsome, and he's got amber eyes." Rue said, to a disappointed expression from Drosselmeyer.

"Fine, you want something more personal?" Rue asked loudly. "He has a definite aversion to pants!"

"Where did he come from?"

The question caught Rue off guard. "I...I don't know."

"Where was he before you met him two years ago?"

Rue was silent.

"You know nothing of who he really is. His past is a total mystery to you. Be wise, Rue."

Uncomfortably, Rue decided to change the subject. "That doesn't change the fact you made him fall in love with a random bird-girl that doesn't even exist."

"_You_ did." Drosselmeyer told her smugly, and then contemplated Rue thoughtfully. "Do you really want to change forms?"

Rue nodded despairingly.

"Are you sure that's wise? Am I not the one who controls your puppet-strings while you are Svanna?"

"You still control me even when I'm Rue."

This was met with a wide smile from Drosselmeyer. Rue had the feeling that there was something...many things... he was not telling her.

Rue paused, and then nodded again in answer to his question anyway. Anything was better than this torture. At least she could be adored by Mytho.

"I'm afraid that I will have to deny your wish... for now. However, let it suffice to say that you shall experience the fulfillment of your desires at a later juncture in your story."

The gear displaying Fakir and Ahiru began to turn slowly. The numerous other gears interlocked with it, including the one Rue was standing on, also began to turn. Rue felt the gear beneath her feet rotate to the right slowly at first, and then faster and faster.

"Good bye, Rue."

"Wait! You can't just make me leave! No! NNOOO!" Rue's cries were lost amid the spinning of the gears. The dizziness became too much and she fell hard on the ground as the ground beneath her whirled violently.

The cold floor of her practice floor was beneath her hands. Drosselmeyer and his endless network of gears had disappeared. She felt bruises on her hands and knees as she rolled over gingerly and stared at the ceiling with a quivering gaze.

* * *

Footsteps came towards her, walking with a light tread. The white shoes stopped before her, and Rue turned her face away. Immediately he was kneeling at her side. "Rue?"

Looking into his face, she remembered who he was. Wasn't he the choreographer, who had directed their movements across the stage?

"I'm all right." She said, not wanting to move.

His brow furrowed as he studied her, assessing the accuracy of her statement. Rue noticed that he was much younger than she had initially suspected; he was not a full-fledged teacher, but looked about her own age. Perhaps it had been his air of command that caused her to misjudge how old he was.

What was his name? Autor, wasn't it? That expression of concern…why was he so familiar? It was as if she knew him from a while ago, but she couldn't remember from where.

_He's the choreographer. Of course you've seen him before,_ she told herself harshly. And yet, there was something more to this instinct.

"You know this is kind of odd." He told her matter-of-factly. "Lying on the floor of your practice room pretending to be a statue."

Fury rose in Rue. How could he mock her like this?

"For your information, I am contemplating the mysteries of life." She answered, as if such a thing was beyond the reach of plebeians such as himself.

"May I join you?" Rue wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not. Still, the spiteful side of her prompted her to answer coldly.

"No." With that short, hateful word, she rose to a sitting position and refused to explain herself.

Autor adjusted his glasses, still studying her earnestly. "I'm worried for you, sometimes." The direct honesty of his statement unnerved Rue. It had been so long since she could take everything at face value.

"I'm not worried." She answered somewhat haughtily, seeing with guilt that he looked a little hurt.

"Are you going to continue practicing?" Autor querried.

"What?" She asked unelegantly, caught off guard.

"I said, will you continue dancing now?"

"Um…yes, I will." Rue answered, not knowing what else to say.

"Would you allow me to accompany you on the piano?"

_Why not?_ Rue asked herself.

"I'm going to dance. You do whatever you want." She returned archly.

Autor gave her a melancholy smile as he rose and offered her an outstretched hand, inviting her to rise as well.

Rue gave a sharp sniff of contempt as she came to her feet, ignoring him. The only person's hand she would take was Mytho's.

Autor sighed, as if he had known that she would do so all along. With a resigned and somber air, he sat before the piano. Yet, the lilting melody he played was nothing short of gorgeous.

And Rue danced.

**End of Act II**

A preview of what is coming in the next act:

A confrontation. Adorable Fakiru-ness. Time stops. Autor takes on a new role. Misplaced doubts. The prince's past comes to life. Something precious will break.

**[A/N] If you've been reading my story so far, please review so I can make the next act even better! Thanks! **


	15. Act 3: Femio v Fakir

_What is told in the ear of a man is often heard 100 miles away. ~ Chinese __Proverb_

**Chapter 16: Femio v. Fakir**

**Involving a hat of bananas, a mega-vat of rose petals, and someone trying to be a poet who is foiled by the word 'orange'.**

"Ahiru!" Pique said loudly.

"AHIRU! YOU AREN'T SAYING ANYTHING! How did it go?" Lillie screamed.

"Guys, I'm just not ready to talk about it yet." Ahiru responded. It would take all of her self-control not to turn as red as a beet even before the in-depth probing started.

"Come on, you have to tell us something!" Pique wheedled.

"My psychic powers sense that Ahiru has something to tell us!" Lillie gasped as if she had experienced an epiphany. "Quick, spit it out!"

Pique gave Lillie an odd look. "What psychic powers?"

"Back to topic!" Lillie commanded.

"Tell us, Ahiru!" The two girls pleaded in unison.

"All right." Ahiru resolved that she would only talk about why she would never go to dinner with Femio again. "Well, it was nothing short of awkward. He kept on talking about how amazing he is and how beautiful he is and how the world just can't stand his superiority. The truth is, I can't stand him! I can't stand it, I just can't stand it!"

"But Ahiru," Lillie interjected, "that's called manly self-confidence!"

"_That_ is called _narcissism_." Ahiru answered testily. She couldn't risk giving Pique or Lillie the wrong impression.

"And Fakir?" Pique probed.

Ahiru turned away and tried not to let her face betray anything of her thoughts. "Not much, really."

"Oh, come on!" Lillie shrieked. "He's been teaching you his secret ninja-ballet ways for ages! You've almost gotten to the point where your technique is as good as the people in the advanced class! You can forget about being as good as the special class, by the way. And I heard from Freya that a bunch of Femio's fangirls decided to come after you, and Fakir rushed out of nowhere and pretty much foiled their evil plans!"

_Well there went that secret_, Ahiru thought.

* * *

Femio stood before his closet in his custom-made neon orange pajamas. What would he wear today? A winter parka with flip-flop sandals? A propeller hat with a fancy suit? His custom-made sun and moon unitard? A banana suit? _Those never go out of style,_ he thought to himself.

And yet he knew he had to be impressive. Ahiru had to see what she was missing.

What was it about Fakir that drew so many fangirls? Was it his _Leave me alone or I'll kill you _face? Couldn't be that, Femio knew that his own dramatic airs were much more alluring.

Was it the dancing? Nope. Femio's dancing had so much passion to it that he left Fakir in the dust.

What was it, then?

It was the fencing. The swordsmanship skills. Femio leaned against the wall and sighed tragically.

Of course.

Femio had to prove that he could duel with Fakir and win.

The only problem was that he couldn't. What was the solution?

He strode out of his room and called to his attendants next door. "Watson! And...I forget your name...yes, you! Do either of you by any chance know how to fence? Or know a magician who knows how to make it look like you do?"

"No, sir." The groggy replies came.

Femio shook his head. How pitifully lazy they were. It was five in the morning, and they weren't up already? Femio made sure to wake up at four thirty each and every morning to pick out his outfit, to curl his hair, and to make sure that he was otherwise perfect. He also made sure to get the first pick of roses at the florist. He couldn't be known for anything but being the best.

Femio considered his dilemma. It was clearly a complicated one.

He had to make the right impression. His color scheme today would be, _Tropical forest_. Deep down, he knew it was just another excuse for him to mix and match rich yellows and purples with leafy greens. Until he figured out what made Fakir so 'amazing', Femio would play it safe. When in doubt, simpler was better.

However, he couldn't resist putting a hat made of fruit on his head as the finishing touch.

* * *

Fakir was doing nothing but minding his own business when Femio came up to him. Fakir made sure to shoot Femio his most annoyed glare.

"Look, I don't know what made you get an exemption from dress code, and I don't know why you insist on carrying roses all over the place, but if you don't have anything to say, get out." Fakir said darkly.

And then his curiosity got the better of him, although the acidity in his tone wasn't lacking. "Is that hat made of _bananas_?"

Femio coughed slightly, miffed that he wasn't being treated with due respect. "I understand that you cannot comprehend my stunning gorgeousness. Indeed, _you_ have become quite a pest. Let's put this matter to rest."

Fakir met this with an irritated look, hoping that Femio hadn't decided to become a poet. "Say what you need to say."

Femio patted his cheeks gently to make sure the powder was still on. "It has come to my attention that we both have the same love interest. So, shall we put our skills to the test?"

"Moron, you're not a poet. Don't pretend to be one." Fakir returned.

"Your arrogance shall be why you come undone!" Femio replied.

Fakir sighed. This was getting more than kind of ridiculous. Why couldn't Femio just leave him alone? "I don't want to hear it anymore."

"And you shall, therefore!"

A pause.

"Orange." Fakir said abruptly.

_And that, my friends, is how to be a successful troll. _Fakir thought smugly.

At Femio's enraged look, they both heard the titters of approaching whispers.

"Ooh, a showdown!" A random girl squealed. "Between Femio and Fakir! How exciting!" Within seconds, a murmuring crowd had gathered around them.

Fakir considered challenging Femio to a write-off to see who could create stories better, but he had the feeling it wouldn't be entirely fair. After all, Fakir's stories did have an odd connection with reality. Instead, he gave Femio a half smile. Femio was unnerved by the experience.

"All right then." Fakir said coolly. "What do I do?"

"A dance-off!" A girl screamed from somewhere in the crowd. Suggestions swirled through to their ears.

"A footrace!" "A duel!" "A cook-off!" "A poetry slam!" "An epic tennis match!"

"Hot-dog eating!" ..."Now I'm hungry."

"PILLOWFIGHT!"

"My man card would be forever revoked." Fakir muttered.

Mytho was laughing silently in the corner. "_Pillowfight."_ He muttered under his breath derisively.

Rue, standing behind the bushes watching Mytho, noted with consternation that Mytho had never had a sense of humor before in the past two years. Was he changing into someone she didn't know? She was beginning to see that she did, indeed, know very little about who he actually was. A plan began to form in her head.

Autor, who had stopped to watch the show but found his gaze drawn to Rue, noticed that Rue had seldom looked as sad as she did now.

Fakir scoffed at the crowd of girls. Little did he know that Ahiru was watching from the back, entirely uncertain of what was going on. Words drifted to her, but she was trying to figure out the situation.

"We can compare our man cards and see who has more stamps." Fakir offered.

Femio looked confused. "I don't have a man card."

Fakir smirked. "Exactly."

Femio made a mental note to himself to figure out exactly what Fakir was talking about. He would put Watson to the task later. However, he had more pressing matters to deal with as of now. It had been two times now that he hadn't rhymed. It was crucial that he stay true to his newly acquired identity of poet.

"If you do not feel the trial of the man card is suitable…or find yourself inept to adequately take on the challenge…" Fakir said, an odd glint in his eyes, "I propose a duel."

_QUICK DAMNIT WHAT RHYMES WITH DUEL? I can't not rhyme again! OH NO WHAT DO I DO? _Femio thought frantically.

Femio racked his brains for a suitable response before finally saying, "Cool."

_WHY DID I HAVE TO BE A POET? NOW I HAVE TO DUEL FAKIR? _

Ahiru came from within the crowd, having weaved her way through to intervene. "What's going on?" She looked as confused as ever. Lillie and Pique appeared behind her. Pique had to admit her interest was piqued.

"For you, little songbird, we shall have a duel!" Femio told her happily. Inwardly, he was devising ways to bring an illusionist in who could make it _look_ like Femio at least kind of knew what he was doing.

"SEE! I told you!" Lillie said with equal happiness. "Look! Just like the Hungry Games! How exciting! It should be a fight to the death, too!"

"No!" Ahiru said firmly. "I will not stand for this. What were you morons thinking?"

But she couldn't hold back her shock as she gaped at Femio's hat. "Is that...are those bananas _real_?"

Fakir stood there, still half-smiling as if amused at it all. This alarmed many of the girls in his fan club; according to their trivia, Fakir hardly if ever smiled.

"I wasn't thinking of anything of the sort. _He _was." Fakir told her, jerking his chin at Femio.

"Trust me, you shall have to choose Femio the Great after this." Femio announced grandly.

"No! I choose Fakir!" Ahiru told him, despite her growing blush. She wouldn't let this nonsense go on any longer. Ahiru wasn't the type to be wishy-washy. She would say exactly what she was thinking. "Stop it this instant! There will be no dueling or anything!"

A collective intake of breath ran through the crowd. This girl had chosen Fakir? Who did she think she was?

To emphasize her point, Ahiru ran to Fakir, seized his hand, and tucked herself beneath his arm with heartwarming innocence. Fakir's other arm came around her protectively. Ahiru had never felt so safe, so sheltered from the rest of the world, as she did now standing encircled in Fakir's arms.

The crowd murmured (many were sighs of 'aww!', some were whispers at the unlikeliness of this happening, and a few were plotting revenge in hushed words), but Fakir couldn't have cared less about what they thought. Lillie and Pique were positively cheering in delight, although Pique was overjoyed for Ahiru and Lillie had already begun to plot out the ways this could lead to a love octagon.

And one dark-haired beauty remained silent, wishing for her own happy ending, for Mytho to love her again. Rage and jealousy bloomed within her, and yet she looked almost pleasantly surprised at what had happened.

Fakir looked oddly triumphant. Femio looked oddly furious.

"Watson! I have no option!" Femio called to the thin air. "I suppose that is that. Bring the mega-vats!"

This time, Watson and five assistants bustled from somewhere, bearing an extra-large vats of rose petals on their shoulders, and showered a flurry of white rose petals into the air. Femio did three flying leaps before he settled in the vast bed of rose petals.

_I must accept it. This is my punishment for stealing so much of the love in this world. My punishment is rightfully deserved. _Femio told himself.

"Mademoiselle…mon…amour!" Femio cried extravagantly, laying there amidst the petals. His fangirls rushed to collect samples of the rose petals for their scrapbooks.

Meanwhile, Fakir could not control the foolish grin spreading across his face. _A stamp for my man card: defeat a French rose-petal-hoarder to win Ahiru without even trying._

And yet this…meant so much more to him than a mere stamp on a man card.

"You have a man card?" Ahiru asked, puzzled, as they walked away together.

_She heard me talking about that? _Fakir asked himself. He looked down at her, struggling to stop smiling but failing miserably. Fakir succeeded in maintaining a respectable expression, although from Ahiru's pink-tinged cheeks and giggles he couldn't be sure how respectable it was. "I'll tell you about that later."

**[A/N] **Femio's rhymes and Fakir's man card stamps are so much fun to write!

Thanks to all my amazing readers and reviewers, who motivate me to keep up with the weekly updates!


	16. Act 3: Operation Ninja

"_It is easy to hate and it is difficult to love. This is how the whole scheme of things works. All good things are difficult to achieve; and bad things are __very easy to get." Rene Descartes_

**Chapter 17: Operation Ninja**

**Involving tree-climbing, more than one evil scheme, and a chocolate cake. **

Rue couldn't stop herself from feeling that Drosselmeyer's curse on Ahiru (or whatever he was planning to do) was fully justified. As she strove to be perfect, the knowledge that Ahiru would suffer as well offered Rue a strange source of solace.

Ahiru seemed so _happy _in spite of the fact that she wasn't as graceful as a swan about to take flight, or as lithe as a wind swirling in between the trees. She was Ahiru, she could dance somewhat gracefully, and she had Fakir. These three things alone were enough to ensure that she was content.

And from the sound of it, Drosselmeyer was planning to wreak havoc on her life in ways neither of them could have ever suspected.

"Much more than you know!" Drosselmeyer cackled evilly. "These three things that make her happy? They shall all be gone by the time I am done with her!"

Rue knew she should warn Ahiru, approach her and tell her what was coming. But what good would it do anyway? Why should she interfere in what clearly was Ahiru's fate?

But what if she was the _only_ one who could save Ahiru?

Something about Ahiru unnerved Rue. She wasn't sure if it was because of Ahiru's seemingly innocent nature, the way she skittered across the pavement almost like a bird flitting on a breeze, or maybe those eyes. Mirror-like and clear blue, Ahiru's long-lashed eyes seemed to pierce through Rue with wisdom incongruous to the rest of her personality. Whenever her gaze caught Ahiru's, she couldn't help but feel that a piece of her soul had been seen into.

Rue couldn't stand Ahiru's unbridled happiness. Deep down within her, Rue knew that if she had the chance, she wouldn't hesitate to hurt Ahiru in any way possible. Besides, Ahiru was becoming too skilled for her own good. Rue had noticed how onlookers watched Ahiru, unable to tear their gazes away, when the younger girl danced with that simple, elegant charm. It was obvious that Ahiru had benefited greatly from Fakir's masterful instruction.

Yes, Rue avoided Ahiru in much the same way she avoided Autor and Mytho. She was growing to dislike the presence of other people. Unfortunately, Autor insisted on being concerned about her, and thus he was much more difficult to stay away from. Once, he had appeared at her practice room bearing a little chocolate cake.

"You don't look like you're eating much. Do you want me to leave this outside the door?" This was all Autor had said, as if his sole purpose was to help her.

When she had sniffed and told him to mind his own business, he had given a heaving sigh and left. Rue later saw that the cake had been left outside the door. It was a miracle that no one had taken it. But then again, she was Rue, the prima donna of the ballet.

Guiltily, after practice, she had taken a bite of the little chocolate cake. And then another. Yes, the whole thing had been devoured eventually. Yes, it was delicious. No, she would never tell him either of those things.

Much more often, he would come and ask to play the piano while she danced. Rue would never admit it, but she almost enjoyed his company then. There was something uplifting about dancing to music while it was being played, especially when played with such feeling. Rue didn't like dancing to silence, and Autor's piano seemed to fill that void. Autor poured his soul into his piano in much the same way she gave herself to dance.

But Rue ignored Autor when he asked her how she was, if she had liked the cake, how she thought rehearsals were going. She wouldn't engage in such degrading conversation.

Autor would sometimes ask how she thought Mytho was doing. Perhaps he was simply curious, but Rue seriously doubted this. Every time he asked about Mytho, she barely restrained herself from smacking Autor across the face with a well-deserved bitchslap. How dare he taunt her, remind her of how Mytho had forsaken her?

Just because she avoided Mytho's presence didn't mean she couldn't watch him from afar. Fakir had been looking after Mytho, but now he seemed to have entirely turned his attention to Ahiru. As a result, Mytho was often left alone, sitting near the slender white gazebo or the rushing fountain. The expression on his face was unreadable then as he sat and looked off into the distance.

Rue noticed that something seemed to have been changing in these past few days. Instead of being completely lost in his daydreams, his eyes now held some expression to them, although they were still distant.

However, she wasn't sure it was an expression she liked; it was so alien from the Mytho she loved and knew. More than once, she thought she saw his amber eyes turn into a deep violet.

When she glanced at him again, his eyes were a pure gold-amber again, his smile as empty and innocent as doll's. She felt guilty for even doubting him, but…

Was he still in love with a phantom swan princess? After all this time?

And what was going on with his eyes?

What did she know about Mytho, anyway? The question, once posed by Drosselmeyer, haunted Rue. It was true that she knew relatively little about who Mytho truly was…

Yes, he had amber eyes. Yes, he liked dancing. Yes, he was kind and sweet and all that. Where had he come from, and what was he doing here? It had never mattered to her before, but now that the thought was inside her head…

* * *

"HAH! Betcha can't come up here!" Ahiru laughed at Pique and Lillie from high in a tree.

"Hey!" Pique shouted. "You know we can't climb like that!"

Lillie, however, was more obstinate. She wrapped her arms around the slender, tall tree and managed to make it half a meter before she had fallen to the ground, barely landing on her feet.

Ahiru easily hooked an arm around a branch and pulled herself higher. _No wonder she's so good at climbing_, Rue thought as she watched. _She's as light as a bird._

She remembered her musings from the day before. How could she find out more about Mytho? Talking to him probably wouldn't do any good; he had long since stopped giving more than one-word answers to her questions. No, she had to be more covert.

Maybe there were clues inside his dorm room. Maybe, just maybe. Perhaps he was actually a secret ninja, and the only way she would ever know would be from the ninja stars at his nightstand…or there could be train tickets, clues as to where he had come from…he could have some secret hidden away where no one would find it. At this point, Rue felt herself becoming hopeful. There was no telling what she could find out by a careful examination of his quarters.

There was something else to be considered; Rue knew the implications of sneaking into the boys' dormitory. Simply put, that was something she would rather not be caught doing. Expulsion did not sound particularly tempting to Rue, and neither did the accompanying humiliation.

And yet…

As she watched Ahiru perch like a small bird near the top of the tree, an idea struck Rue.

_Ahiru. She's small enough to fit through a window with little effort, good at climbing, and, above all, I won't have to do it._

_And, as the final touch, I'll leave her there, helpless, after I get what I want. _

But how would she persuade Ahiru to go along?

* * *

"Hey, Ahiru, can I talk to you?"

"Sure." Ahiru waited uncomfortably. As always, Rue was unreadable, but Ahiru thought she saw a hint of manipulative malice behind those dark eyes.

"Mind if we go outside?" Rue asked.

"Of course not." Ahiru answered.

The two girls, both clad in thick jackets, scarves, and legwarmers as they carried their ballet bags, walked out from rehearsal together. Ahiru noticed that Rue was steering them in a direction where nobody would be within earshot.

"So what did you want to say?" Ahiru queried.

"Look. I'm going to ask you to do something. Can you break into Mytho's room and search for something that might reveal clues to his past or who he really is?"

Ahiru stopped in her tracks and stared at Rue. Surely she had to be joking.

"It's not that hard. I've got it all planned out. You're going to scale the tree next to the boys' dormitory and step onto the top of the roof. You'll carefully crawl along atop the little shelf-like thing at the bottom of the roof until you reach the middle of the building. You're going to lower yourself down onto the window ledge, which we'll check to be sure is open. I'll be waiting below, and you can throw down whatever you find. I'll explain to you what you're looking for. When you're done searching you can anchor the rope on the curtain rod with a quick knot and throw the rope down to me. You'll climb down the rope and it'll be over. How easy is that?"

The part that was least likely to work wouldn't even need to work...in fact, it wouldn't. Rue knew that everything she had proposed was reasonable...except for the escape. _But Ahiru won't be doing any escaping after that_, Rue thought smugly. _It doesn't concern me what happens after I get what I want. If she's resourceful enough to escape somehow, so be it. If she's expelled, I'll be rid of her. If she's trapped in a compromising situation, what do I care?_

Her mouth agape, Ahiru tried to make herself believe that Rue wasn't crazy. How in the world had she come up with this scheme? Clearly she had put a lot of thought into it.

"Why _would_ I help you?" Ahiru asked dubiously. "This is kind of weird. No, it _is_ weird. You're basically asking me to break into the boys' dormitory and snoop through Mytho's stuff? Rue, what is going on here?"

"I knew you'd be hesitant. That's why I'm going to offer you pointe lessons in return. As many as you like." _Of course not_, Rue thought to herself. _I won't do anything of the sort. Let her believe what she likes._

Ahiru's breath caught in her throat. Pointe lessons. From the upperclassman Rue? Ahiru would be a star in no time if both Rue _and_ Fakir were helping her.

"But someone's bound to see me!" Ahiru told Rue. "When are you planning on doing this?"

"The lunch break. We'll skip lunch, but there's nothing for it. Make sure to eat a big breakfast. Tomorrow, Mytho has his rehearsal right after lunch, so you should have at least two hours."

Ahiru sighed, torn between the selfless desire to help Rue and the knowledge that going through with this plot wasn't the best idea.

"Please, Ahiru?" Rue asked. "This means a lot to me. Please?"

Ahiru looked into Rue's glimmering maroon eyes and nodded. "All right. Those pointe lessons had better be good." The younger girl's face lit up. "It's almost like a spy mission! You know what we should call it?"

"What?" Rue answered resignedly.

"Operation Ninja!" Ahiru answered excitedly. "I do have to be like a ninja for this, don't I? The stakes couldn't be higher!"

"Much higher than you could possibly ever imagine." Drosselmeyer murmured conspirationally. "Good luck, dear Ahiru!"

**[A/N] ****Will Rue's plans work? Is Fakir the only one who can be like a ninja? Will Ahiru succeed? Or will everything go terribly, terribly wrong?**


	17. Act 3: Ahiru Learns How to be a Burglar

**[A/N]** We are going to engage in a little thinking exercise right now... imagine that there is a tall tree, suitable for climbing, next to the boys' dormitory. Now imagine that it is possible to climb the tree and walk on the roof cautiously to make it into one of the rooms...without being caught... far fetched, I know. However, the next chapters should be entirely worth it. (not to mention important to the plot!) Also, about the quotes/poems...I will only include them when I feel there's an important insight/foreshadowing to be made by the use of a stanza/witty quote, or if it fits particularly well with the chapter. Enjoy!

**Chapter 18: Ahiru Learns How to be a Burglar**

**Lots of suspense, a couple of close saves, and something gone terribly wrong.**

"I don't have a good feeling about this." Ahiru whispered.

"Relax." Rue said, congratulating herself at her own cunning capabilities. She had come up with a fail-safe, fool-proof plan to investigate Mytho. Rue knew that this was quite possibly one of her most manipulative plans. Ahiru, being incapable of understanding such sly motives, hadn't even thought of the possibility that Rue wouldn't keep her word.

Rue had nothing to lose; if Ahiru was caught, Rue would refuse to acknowledge any shred of being involved in this scheme whatsoever. Her calm, ice-cold demeanor would quickly repel any accusations of misconduct. Ahiru would be caught red-handed in the act; there was no way she could back away from physical evidence (i.e. standing in Mytho's room with her arms full of papers). If Ahiru succeeded, Rue would have her information.

The campus was devoid of activity, as was usual for lunch breaks when everybody was eating. Ahiru was wearing tough black pants, for ease of climbing and movement, and a dark shirt. Her bright hair was tied back tightly. A rope hung at one of her belt loops. Ahiru mentally rehearsed what she was going to do as she breathed in and out deliberately.

"It's all right." Rue said. "Remember, you climb this tree. Then, you inch along the roof. Try not to fall and break your neck. And then, step carefully onto the windowsill. You know the window's already open. See?"

And indeed, the window was open, providing a convenient means of entrance into the room.

"Remind me why I can't just go through the building like a normal person?" Ahiru asked, somewhat exasperated that she had to actually climb on the roof.

"Well, we don't want you to be seen." Rue answered. "And,"

"I'm kind of on the roof of a building." Ahiru remarked.

"But people don't look where they're not used to looking." Rue told her. "Besides, there's no one here anyway. And their door is going to be locked, so even if you did manage to get in and somehow sneak through to the door, you wouldn't be able to actually get inside the room. This is the only way."

Ahiru tried to stay calm. "All right."

"You know what you're looking for; I already told you." Rue said.

"It's kind of silly." Ahiru remarked. "We both know that guys don't write in journals."

"Well, he hasn't for the past two years, but I know he had one when he first arrived two years ago for about a week. I'd always see him writing in it. I know him much better than you do, so just accept it." Rue returned haughtily.

Ahiru's good nature towards Rue was quickly fading, but she was still driven by her sympathetic character to do all she could to aid others, no matter what the cost.

"Don't forget, you tie the rope around the curtain rod and throw it down to me. I'll anchor it to something, and you can slide down. Then, we yank the rope off the curtain rod and we go home!"

Here was where Rue had been particularly devious. This was the part of her plan that was least likely to work, and both of them knew it. However, only Rue knew that she would leave Ahiru there once Rue had gotten her information, whatever it was. If Ahiru was resourceful enough to make it out of there without being caught, then good for her. However, most likely she would be punished or even expelled.

Oddly enough, Rue found herself liking the idea more than she had thought. The guilt inside her dissipated a bit, like ice melting in water.

"I feel like a ninja." Ahiru murmured, looking down at herself.

"Totally off topic. Besides, don't be silly." Rue answered. "Ninjas can't be seen."

Ahiru took a deep breath and hooked her ankle in the crevice between a thick branch and the trunk, using her core muscles to pull herself upwards. Rue watched in amazement as Ahiru skittered up the tree, looping her hands from one branch to the next. Within five minutes, Ahiru was near the roof.

_It's so high up here._ The height made Ahiru slightly dizzy. Ahiru looked down at Rue, who nodded reassuringly. With care, Ahiru set her foot down on the gutter, and she shifted her weight from the branch to the roof. Gripping onto the edge of the roof tightly, Ahiru tried not to think about exactly what she was doing. She only had to crawl from here to the middle of the building…it wasn't that hard…

One move at a time. One hand forward. Next hand forward. She crawled painstakingly towards her goal. _Keep on going_, she urged herself.

_Keep on trying._

Against her will, Ahiru's gaze found the ground again.

With horror, she saw that Rue was not alone. Rue's mouth was moving as she talked to someone…Autor! He seemed worried, talking with Rue even though she made it clear that she wasn't listening. Ahiru groaned quietly, hoping that Rue would be able to distract him. Indeed, Rue nodded courteously towards Autor, who walked away with resignation.

Ahiru had to be quick. Her pace increased as she scooted along the little ledge on her hands and knees.

Finally. This was the dangerous part. The ledge of the window in Mytho's room was near Ahiru now, a little too far to the right for her to drop directly onto it. She took a last deep breath to calm herself, and then shifted her weight forwards into just her hands, preparing to swing back and forth onto the ledge. With a sudden lurch, her weight dropped so that she was only supported by her hold on the edge of the roof.

It was harder than she had expected to remain there. She hung in the air, knowing that she had to swing far right enough to land on the safety of the windowsill. Ahiru had also known that she would need to let go eventually, but nothing could have been more frightening. Her fingers began to ache from holding on so tightly. She began to shift her body weight from the right...to the left...back and forth like a pendulum. Ahiru had to let go at precisely the right moment to land on the windowsill.

From sheer desperation, she released her grip when she had swung as far right as possible, landing hard on her knees on the window ledge. Judging from the soreness of her kneecaps, she would have purple bruises where she had landed tomorrow.

Oh well. The window was open, as usual. Ahiru gingerly entered, brushing back the flyaway hair from her face and dusting off her hands and knees.

It was just like any other room. Where was she supposed to search? Ahiru hadn't even thought she would make it this far.

Ahiru looked around. She would try, all right, but that didn't mean she would find anything. She turned and closed the window slightly to be sure that no one outside would see her. Just as promised, Ahiru noticed Rue standing directly below her, reading something casually.

After about twenty minutes of going through the bookshelves, Ahiru noticed that the books seemed to mainly be great plays written by the masters of long ago. Little notes were scribbled in spiky handwriting into the margins, often noting something about the construct of the play, the importance of that passage or maybe a connection to another theme or work.

_That's odd._ Ahiru thought. _I didn't know Mytho was interested in this kind of stuff._

There were handwritten stories about almost everything in the same spiky writing. She would have loved to read them all if she had time. She had to be careful, though, not to displace too many pages. She would leave everything exactly as it had been when she came in.

She had almost given up all hope when she found a small, dusty blue notebook tucked away in the corner of the bookshelf. Curious, she opened it to the first page.

In smooth, dark, ink there were written the following words;

_Has the tragedy caught me here? I cannot expel the thought from my mind. The days grow darker, or perhaps lighter, depending on your definition of hell. Yes, most likely there will be a detailed desciption of a descent into hell in these next pages. __But primarily, I will write about change. I have been told that a namelss weight will descend onto my shoulders. Yes, that is change. When I reread what I will have written, perhaps I will be able to figure out exactly how it has happened. _

"Mytho, Mytho…let's see…" Ahiru said to herself lightly.

She rifled through the remaining pages. There were only about fifteen or more pages, written in an elegant, neat script. The rest of the thing was disappointingly blank.

In a moment of joy, Ahiru rushed to the window with the notebook in her hand.

"Hey!" She whispered fiercely, just loud enough for Rue to hear.

Rue looked up just in time to be hit on the head with the blue notebook. Smiling her thanks, she nodded at Ahiru.

Ahiru continued, stepping softly across the floor. She highly doubted she would find more than this.

She began to muse aloud softly. "I wonder if Mytho…"

That was when a familiar voice startled her to death.

**[A/N] My, my. Ahiru just got caught...or did she? Who do we think this is? **


	18. Act 3: A Very Embarrassed Fakir

**Chapter 19: A Very Embarrassed Fakir**

**Guess who surprises Ahiru? Yes, it's our favorite dancer knight...**

Fakir's hair was still damp from showering and loose from its usual ponytail, his sword not at his hip, his usual clothing absent in exchange for a towel over his shoulder and loose black shorts. He was hardly in a state to face off against an intruder.

And yet he was more scared than he cared to admit. There was something particularly unnerving about coming out of the shower, hearing suspicious noises at the window (almost as if a horde of squirrels was rushing in through the window, even though they were on the top floor), and then waiting in deathly fright (making sure, of course, to be completely silent) to see if an axe murderer would round the corner and chop his head off.

_This would be a terribly hilarious way to die_. Fakir thought. The only reason he was in here during lunch period was because solo rehearsals for his part had run late. Fakir would not stop until he had reached exactly the level he wanted to be on his high-flying jumps, despite Autor's protests that it was getting rather late and they should be off to lunch. Because Autor hadn't been dancing, he went straight to eat with the rest. Not so with Fakir; he resolved to take a quick shower instead and then run to eat in the last few minutes he had left.

Instead, he was trapped here in a situation that would have been hilarious if he hadn't been scared half to death.

Fakir dared not peek around the corner partly for embarrassment at his pitifully weak state and partly for fear that the intruder could have looked in his direction at that moment, making him a target.

Fakir resolved that he would stay in the shadows and attempt to wait this out. The intruder could possibly be dangerous and armed. As he pressed himself against the wall, thinking of all the ways he could use a bar of soap as a weapon, he listened intently.

Fakir immediately tried to stop thinking of all the horror stories he'd ever read.

There was that one where the person got out of the shower, heard glass shattering, and then, with just a towel, decided to investigate. Of course, he had to be brutally murdered by a cold-blooded, white-masked killer. And there was that other one where that lady was murdered in the shower...and those _violins_ screeching just made it all the more terrible...those killers were psychos! and then there was that one other one, where the guy heard sinister laughter and suddenly there was a knife at his throat...

_Stop. STOP. STOP. STOP! YOU'RE NOT GOING TO DIE!_

But it was no use. Fakir couldn't stop panicking. This was a terrible, terrible situation. He was going to die, and he was so, so young. He had barely done anything he wanted to do in life, so many man card stamps yet to be obtained, and here he was, trapped like a hamster in an airless jar.

What kind of person broke in through the window just to say hello? A murderer, that was who. Fakir was certain that there were more malicious intentions involved. (Like murder. Oh, the horror!)

_Calm down, Fakir. What can you do? Just stay quiet and maybe you'll escape unscathed._

Fakir would have been more than ready if he'd only had a sword and some decent clothes. (He didn't need a hair tie; his hair looked even more fabulous whipping around his face as he performed fencing moves). However, as luck would have it, these vital things were in the exact place that the intruder had decided to search.

However, as time went by, Fakir came to the conclusion that most likely the intruder did not intend to murder the occupants of this room. His heartbeat settled somewhat, although he knew that he couldn't be sure of his safety. As papers were rustled quietly and footsteps pressed into the floor softly, it became clear to Fakir that this was a mission of espionage.

Why was there an intruder _now_? What did they want? Why weren't they sweeping the area for occupants before they started about their business? That showed _clear_ unprofessionalism.

And what in the world did the intruder even hope to gain from searching this room?

Judging from the lightness of the intruder's movement and the delicacy of touch as papers were shifted and rustled, the intruder was probably female. But who would bother to steal into the boys' dormitory and look through his papers? And it was the _boys'_ dormitory...That moron.

Her voice was almost singsong. "Mytho, Mytho…let's see…"

Then came ruffling of pages, and a sharp whispered "Hey!" More ruffling of pages ensued.

His suspicions were confirmed. In addition, this was about Mytho! People wanted to harm him! But why? Who could it be?

_The dark swan princess._ He knew it. She was the only person who Fakir could think of who would be in here, the only person that would steal into the dormitory like this, the only person who wanted to hurt Mytho.

And yet, he hadn't known that she was still on the surface of his mind as a matter not to be forgotten. Something in him instinctively knew that she could only lead to trouble.

It looked like Fakir's duties as a knight would never end.

He couldn't bear the curiosity anymore. Fakir allowed himself to look around the corner.

"AHIRU!?"

She squeaked and dropped whatever she was holding. Fakir took in her dark clothes, the rope looped at her hip, her climbing shoes. It was all very suspicious.

In three long strides Fakir was looming over her.

"WHAT THE HELL YOU MORON?"

Ahiru took a step backward as her face became an unforgiving shade of tomato red. "I didn't…"

"What are you doing here?" Fakir asked, still angry.

"What are you doing here?" Ahiru managed, shocked and trying to avoid his lethal glares. It was quite possibly the stupidest question she could have thought to ask.

"I'm Mytho's roommate, you idiot!" Fakir barked. "Now tell me exactly what you're doing!"

Ahiru struggled to explain herself, becoming more and more flustered. "I…I'm just…"

Fakir frowned, anger dissipating into annoyance at her confusion. "You're just what?"

And then she looked up for the first time, and inadvertently her gaze focused on the scarred skin that stretched across his chest almost like a lightning bolt, from right shoulder to left hip.

"Turn around!" Fakir snapped as an uncharacteristic blush crossed his cheeks. At least she couldn't see his embarrassment, and seemed to be even more humiliated than he was. Quickly, he went to get some proper clothes so he could in the least appear normal.

* * *

Within a couple of minutes, he had tied back his hair, dressed, and made himself presentable. Ahiru was sitting on the edge of the small table in the center of the room, trying to think of how she would explain herself to Fakir.

She couldn't tell on Rue. No, she couldn't. But Ahiru knew that this looked unduly suspicious. What would she tell Fakir? She had thought that everyone would be gone at lunch break.

But it was plausible that Fakir had eaten early in order to practice more even though Mytho was gone. Or maybe rehearsal had gone late. Why hadn't Rue thought of this? Was Rue waiting for her even now?

Fakir emerged from around the corner. She noticed that his familiar sword and scabbard were now on his hip. Undoubtedly, hearing someone break in right after you had showered was not a pleasant experience.

"Sorry." She admitted guiltily to Fakir. Ahiru hoped that her burning cheeks had faded somewhat by now, but it was still doubtful. Another deep wave of shame washed over her.

Fakir saw that she did truly look contrite. He couldn't stand seeing her this unhappy when he remembered her usual cheer. "It's all right." Fakir said, forgetting that he was supposed to be mad at the puppy-dog expression of her innocent blue eyes.

"Thank you." Ahiru answered shyly, still looking down.

"Now, let's figure out how we're supposed to get you out of here without being seen." Fakir told Ahiru matter-of-factly.

* * *

Now that Ahiru didn't have to make it through a locked door, the escape was much easier. No one would question Fakir besides, especially not that odd small boy with that funny hat walking next to him.

A large hat, a thick coat, and a lot of nervous anticipation later, Fakir and Ahiru were standing a good ways away from the boys' dormitory.

Ahiru shed the hat and the coat, placing them into Fakir's arms.

"You still haven't explained what all that was about." Fakir remarked dryly. His hand unconsciously covered the scar that crossed his chest, as if to shield it from her questioning glance.

"I don't know if I can." Ahiru answered, and she tried to quelch her embarrassment as she stood on tiptoe to kiss him lightly on the cheekbone before scurrying off.

Fakir shook his head, blushing faintly. _I don't know if I can get a stamp for my man card from that particular mess._ His green eyes became triumphant. _Yes! Yes I can! Of course..._

_Survive break-in by dangerous intruder (let's forget that it was Ahiru) with no sword, no shoes, no shirt, and get a kiss at the end of it all. Objective complete._

**[A/N] Yes, this will be important later on in the story. Hope this chapter wasn't too scandalous... **

**Poor Fakir! At least he seems to be collecting a fair amount of stamps for his man card :)**


	19. Act 3: Mytho, the Pantless Prince

**Chapter 20: Mytho, the Pantless Prince**

"Yes!" Rue muttered to herself quietly, flipping through the pages. It was Mytho's handwriting. She was almost certain it was that same book she had once seen him write in from two years ago.

Ahiru was so naïve. Rue had gotten what she needed; she wouldn't stay here a moment longer. Those pointe classes? Soon to be forgotten. Rue wouldn't waste her time on anything of the sort.

Ahiru could fend for herself after this. Even if she got expelled? Well, it was her own fault anyway. Rue wouldn't waste any more time waiting. Trying to conceal her excitement, Rue raced away as she clutched the small book to her chest.

She sat down in the library, prepared for some careful reading. No one could see her like this, so she was careful to choose a spot behind some bookshelves where few could see her.

She tried not to think of what would happen if Mytho or Fakir were to notice that this was gone. No, it wouldn't happen...nobody would notice...right?

Right. The notebook seemed like it hadn't been disturbed for a while, judging from the light layer of dust that had accumulated on the covers that she gently brushed off. If worst came to worst...Ahiru would have done it, and Rue would be guilt-free.

And now… to read.

The first paragraph gave Rue pause. It seemed that Mytho had arrived here from somewhere else, and that it _changed_ him somehow. Hungrily, she kept reading.

* * *

_Let me be clear. This is not a diary. _

_NO._

_IT IS NOT A DIARY._

_It is a journal, and men can keep journals. I'm not as obsessed with my man card as Fakir, but I just wanted to get that point across. I am keeping this journal for a very specific reason. It does not need to be a place for me to vent my overly emotional feelings, because that's not what men do. Not what manly men do, anyway._

_Today I walked through the campus, trying to familiarize myself with the place. Of course, Fakir was always there behind me, throwing annoyed looks at anyone who dared to cross our path. He was never the talkative type. Or the sociable type._

_Girls throw themselves at his feet anyway. He calls them all idiots to their faces and struts on with his nose in the air. I'm pretty sure they like that sort of thing for an inexplicable reason._

_Fakir took it upon himself to be my protector. I'm glad for it, somewhat, but he is sometimes overly brusque. I do enjoy a good conversation every once in a while, although I am more of a listener than a talker. Sometimes, the silence is a little too much with Fakir, and I take brief tours by myself. _

_Fakir isn't a fan of me wandering off alone, but it does provide for some introspective moments._

_It was on one of these spontaneous little walks that I met Rue. What words can describe her? I won't even try. Let it suffice to say that she's very pretty, charming, and dances eloquently._

_Fakir wasn't pleased when he heard that I had a girlfriend, but it wasn't as if he could tell me I couldn't have one._

_The only comment he made was this: "Well, that escalated quickly."_

_I can't say I don't agree._

* * *

_Fakir has been training here since he was little, as has Rue. My former practice in the art of ballet gave me the skills needed to ascend to their level of classes. So I partnered with Rue in the special class. Fakir seems to think she's the devil incarnate or something, despite all the times I tell him contrariwise._

_Fakir has been repeatedly dogged by hordes of girls clamoring for his signature obnoxiously. Fangirls, I think they're called. It's getting to the point of ridiculousness. I was grateful that I didn't have to deal with this problem until a group of girls came up to me excitedly and asked me who I was._

_When I looked up, I could have sworn that one of them gasped. Another one swooned. "He's so cute!" She shouted. Rue arrived in less than ten seconds and dispersed them with casual ease. I still don't know how she does it._

_And now I'm followed as well. The fangirls initially made multiple plans to bring Rue down in their attempts to have me for themselves. I think that once they stole her favorite red pointe shoes or something like that. I'm not clear on what happened, but when Rue found out her reaction was scarily calm. She rose from beside me, brushed herself off, and stalked with a dangerous air towards the girls' dormitory._

_An hour later, she returned with her pointe shoes and several scratches and bruises on her face and arms. I hesitated to ask what had happened, but something about Rue's victorious smile told me that they wouldn't bother her again._

_And indeed, they did not._

* * *

_Ok, so apparently there's this rumor that I don't like to wear pants. I don't know what moron started it. _

_Look guys, pants are pants. They are so, so mundane that they're not even worthy of gossip. Those fangirls! As if that wasn't enough, it seems to be the hottest gossip that's going around lately! All I hear when I walk around are giggles of 'Mytho' and 'pants'. Yes, they were all giggling, which is better than outright staring, and it seems that now I have my own fan club, but still. I was not very amused. _

_This built up until I was suitably angered...and then I had a brilliant idea. Fakir now thinks I'm the stupidest idiot ever, but I don't care. _

_So, today, I walked out of the boys' dormitory...and, get this...I wasn't wearing pants!_

_No, don't get excited there...I _was_ wearing a long shirt that came about a hand's length away from my knees. But the fact remains that I wasn't wearing pants!_

_ AND IT WAS HILARIOUS._

_I made sure to meet as many of those fangirls as I could. You should have seen the looks on their faces. Priceless._

_I was feeling pretty good about myself...until they started calling me the Pantless Prince._

_It is now all over the school. Everyone knows about it. Including the guys._

_Fakir tells me I deserved it. Which I probably did. _

* * *

_Fakir, what with his sullen attitudes and I'll-kill-you glares, has not succeeded in scaring Rue off by one bit. I feel as if I'm locked in a power struggle with one on each side, trying to control me. Naturally, I've always been the type who lets people have my way. It comes to my advantage in situations like this._

_But I'm haunted still. Even though I'm the type who likes to make light of things that bother me (which is why Fakir is convinced that I'm going to die a needlessly stupid death, such as pretending to be too slow to get out of the way of a train and then actually getting hit), I'm hard pressed to make this into a joke. This isn't my rightful place. It could never be._

* * *

_I awake in the night, having fancied some stillness in my heart, and my hand will be pressed to my chest. Sometimes I wonder how it will happen. Is it gradual? Or will I awaken one morning, and the beat of my heart will be empty, like a void where the sunlight dares not touch?_

_Or has the process begun, and I am simply unaware of it? Am I slipping away, slowly?_

_Which fate would I rather have?_

_And then I think of what I could have been, had I let myself be selfish enough. I could have been immortal. That word gives me the shivers. What would it be like to live forever? The thought of it awakens a pang of longing in me, makes me wish I had chosen that path._

_But then I would no longer have been a virtuous prince. I wouldn't be who I was meant to be. I have already made my decision. There is no turning back now, and yet, I have a difficulty accepting that._

_That old man told me that I would meet the same fate regardless. That it would be even more tragic once all was said and done, in spite of this sacrifice. He told me I was making a fatal mistake. But I couldn't surrender. He laughed at me, told me I was a fool. That I would surrender in the end, because that's what everyone does._

_These thoughts make me break out in a cold sweat. My hand will still be pressed to my heart, my breath coming harsh and ragged. His laugh will echo in my head._

_Fakir calls me a moron, swears at me for a while, and then tells me to go back to sleep. He worries too, I know, but he hides his grief behind a sharp mask of that __'YOU'RE ALL IDIOTS' look. That's more than enough to scare everyone away._

_And yet, I wonder if what I've been told will come true. I've sacrificed so much, and yet..._

_...it feels as if I cannot escape from this icy grip deadening in my heart._

_It was during one of these nights that I heard Fakir laughing to himself, and I realized he was just as awake as I was. _

_But while I had been drowning in a sea of dread, he had been chuckling. "Mytho...the Pantless Prince." I heard him say quietly as he turned over, readjusting his pillow. His laughter was not quiet enough for me not to hear it. _

_The joke's not old yet. If the tragedy doesn't get me, being the laughingstock of the school will._


	20. Act 3: I Couldn't Save You

**Chapter 21: I Couldn't Save You**

_Can I just say something right now?_

_I really, really don't like Fakir. He, under the guise of being my protector, forbids me to do practically anything. I am getting sick of his over-protectiveness. I know he wants to be a knight, but this is getting kind of ridiculous! I am not a china doll, fragile and breakable! Sure, I am in danger, but most of all from myself, not from others!_

_Okay, that was kind of a lie. It's all really messed up; I'm not sure how to explain the entire thing to even myself._

_Fakir is looking at me suspiciously. I've forbidden him to look through this, and I keep it with me at all times. If it does come true, it won't matter anymore; if it doesn't come true, then he'll never see a word I wrote._

_Fakir, if you're reading this (which you should not be!), I appreciate your service. __You've always been loyal to me. No, I don't really hate you. Yes, I encourage you to take a chill pill and learn how to start being nice to people. _

_Maybe you should start talking to that red-headed girl who seems to have caught your eye. I didn't really think she was your type (who is?) but I give you my blessing._

_HA! Should've seen the look on your face. Fakir, you take things way too seriously. _

_(If you're reading this, you'll know for sure that I've completely lost all traces of my soul... because there's no way I'd ever let you even touch my man journal. Man journal? Like it? I've taken a leaf from your book and put 'man' in front of something I want to sound manly. Like your man card, so important to you it might as well be a diamond ring. Guess what? It actually works.)_

_And guess what? I'm not the moron. You are, you moron. _

* * *

_I had to get him back with some kind of revenge for laughing at their Pantless Prince remarks. Or in the least do something. He was making me feel depressed. _

_But it's really, really easy to mess with Fakir. As I said, he takes things so seriously. Seeing as how I probably wouldn't be around like this much longer, I knew I had to take the chance while it lasted._

_Scene: Mytho is standing near the window, looking pensively into the distance. Fakir approaches._

_Fakir: "Look, Mytho, are you all right?"_

_Mytho: "Mmm."_

_Fakir: "Are you feeling okay? Is your heart being...odd?"_

_Mytho: "Well..."_

_Pause._

_Fakir: "You know you can talk to me, right?"_

_Mytho: "Yeah, I guess..."_

_Fakir (getting irritated): "Just say it, moron!"_

_Mytho (putting a hand on his forehead like a damsel in distress): "I think... my heart..."_

_Fakir: "WHAT?"_

_Mytho: "My heart is hurting! Oh, Fakir, I think I'm losing my heart!"_

_Fakir (really, really ashamed): "Mytho, I'm so sorry I yelled at you. Do you really think...is there anything I can do?"_

_Mytho: "Oh no! Do you see that ginormous black raven?"_

_Fakir (looking around wildly): "What? Are you hallucinating?"_

_Mytho: "It's coming! It wants to take me! Fakir, what do I do?"_

_Fakir (confused, disheveled): "A raven? There's no raven!"_

_Mytho: "But...it wants to eat me!"_

_Fakir (now abandoning all pretense of knowing what's going on): "Sh, it's all right. It won't eat you."_

_Mytho: "And...I think I see something else...can it be?"_

_Fakir (turning around, utterly bumfuzzled): "Where?"_

_Mytho: "It looks like...what is it?"_

_Fakir (worried out of his mind): "Tell me! Is it another raven?"_

_Mytho: "No, it's your man card with all its stamps revoked for falling prey to a troll."_

_Fakir (silent for a moment, perplexed until he gets it): "What troll? A man... card..." Pause... "Mytho, you're going to die."_

_Mytho: *runs away to hide and avoid being punched into next week*_

_Maybe I shouldn't have. Maybe it was a little too mean-spriited. But it was sure as hell the highlight of my stay here. On the other hand, Fakir is probably going to kill me sometime._

* * *

_On a more melancholy note, I feel myself disappearing._

_I shouldn't have joked about it. It's what I've always done, because I've found that nothing heals better than a good laugh. But this time, it's real. It was gradual at first, but now I'm absolutely certain._

_I feel an odd deadness inside, as if my heart has turned to ice. How ironic, considering my true home. It is much preferable to the alternative._

_Get a hold of yourself. I knew what I was getting into when I came here. At least, I hope I did._

_And the only escape? Well, I shudder to think of the only means to return. There was a reason I came here, but I fled rather than arrived. We all have made our sacrifices. I knew the consequences. I knew what would happen to me. I try to persuade myself that it was worth it._

_But I knew what happens to those who try to switch the realm they dwell in._

_This deadness inside unnerves me. I am not used to feeling like this. It feels…almost more than I had bargained for…_

_Will I die instead? Completely? _

_No. No. Don't be paranoid. Stop thinking such things. Let's say the old man was telling the truth._

_Will that mean that I stop writing? Or will I continue, and all this to become a dull, emotionless monotony of words?_

* * *

_Rue is always asking me if I love her._

_I find myself mildly annoyed. What is it with girls and this needless obsession with love? _

_Sometimes I just don't care. Let me eat my food in peace! I'm her boyfriend, what more does she need?_

_All hell would break loose if I said no. Not to mention that the fangirls would start attacking me again. So I say yes. _

* * *

_It's almost like Fakir has forgotten how I completely killed his overblown ego. I don't know. Maybe. _

_I shouldn't put down my guard._

_Anyway, Fakir is concerned._

_But not in the regular way._

_He tried to lock me in a closet yesterday so I wouldn't go to meet Rue. We dance together, sometimes. It's really very nice._

_Literally, this is what happened._

_Fakir: You shouldn't go and meet Rue._

_Me: Mmm. (Unconcerned face)_

_Fakir: Come on. She's no good, Mytho._

_Me: Hmm. (I'm-not-listening-to-you face)_

_Fakir: Listen to me!_

_Me: Ok. (Yeah-right face)_

_Fakir: (grabs me by the upper arm and drags me towards closet)_

_Me: (epic arm twist, somersault, and runs away to meet Rue)_

_Like he'd ever be able to do that. Honestly?_

_Ok, well, Fakir is stronger than I am, and he probably could have tried harder to prevent me from running away. But he has more pride than that. He __hates_ _Rue, though. He tries to reason with me about her. Let him try. I'm not going to listen._

_He tells me that this will lead to the ultimate fulfillment of the tragedy, that she is the cause of what will happen to me._

_My reaction: unimpressed face._

_Doubts fill my heart like stones dropping into a well. It is in the middle of the night that everything becomes darker, deeper, and I begin to wonder what will happen to me. It hasn't been very long. The deadness inside me is increasing, and I am decreasing._

_Maybe my initial theory was wrong. Maybe it isn't a sudden loss. Maybe it's going to be so gradual that I don't even notice._

_The thougt terrifies me._

* * *

_I despise that old man. If only he hadn't messed with my life. I was doing perfectly fine before he decided to stick his nose into my business!_

_He's probably watching me now. What a pervert._

* * *

_I had a man-to-man talk with Fakir today. _

_He pretty much confessed that the only reason he's been being so mean to me is because he's trying to bring back my spirit by making me angry. Apparently, I've been getting more emotionless day by day. He saw that the only time I became truly impassioned was when I went to meet Rue, and he tried to make me mad so I could get a little piece of my soul back, even if only for a while._

_This scares me. Fakir is the silent-and-strong type, and he never says anything unless there's something seriously wrong. He looked at me with those penetrating green eyes after he was done talking, almost as if to warn me._

_I apologized for being so callous._

_Fakir's expression became even more concerned. He looked like he was about to say a million things, but he simply grunted and went out._

_Maybe he's right. It's a terrible feeling, to lose your soul. Bit by bit, piece by piece. Some would argue that it is better this way._

_For one, I think that this is only an improvement from absolute suffering. If somebody's being tortured to the point where they'd rather have death than whatever agony they're going through, then I definitely think it's better that they lose their soul rather than die. I'm sure it's very comforting to be part of a sparse emptiness. Feel nothing, do nothing, and everyone loves you because you agree with them, no matter what they say._

_No, this is not an improvement._

_And somehow, I cannot bring myself to care._

* * *

_The tragedy has followed me here. I know I'm being melodramatic, but let me be melodramatic while I can. Soon, I won't care enough even to be melodramatic anymore._

_I feel as if I'm slipping down a steep slope. More melodrama. It's kind of justified. Even writing in this journal has become an unpleasant task. Fakir yells at me and curses at me some more._

_His voice is harsh against my ears. I cringe against the wall awkwardly, waiting for his anger to subside. I'm half embarrassed for him and half confused at what's going on. Today, for the first time he dropped to his knees in silent defeat. There was a time when I would have laughed at him, or knelt next to him chuckling, or maybe even pretended to be mock crying in happiness at his marriage proposal. I simply stood there, not knowing how to comfort him._

_Fakir's shoulders shook. Even when he stood fiercely, tears in his eyes, and let loose a stream of steady curses at me that would have made anybody blush, I didn't move a muscle._

_It is clear he is suffering. I, however, am not._

_Finally, he held me at arms' length, his chin quivering. "I don't know how to save you." He whispered. "Please! Please don't leave me!"_

_I was at a loss for words. I wasn't leaving him. I was right here, in front of him. For some reason, he was holding back tears._

"_Mytho! I'm trying…come back! Come back!"_

_And then commenced one of the most awkward side hugs I have ever had in my entire life. _

_Honestly, Fakir isn't the touchy-feely type. He doesn't like hugs. He doesn't like emotions. And actually initiating a hug, even though a short, side-armed hug? Talking about feelings? His behavior baffled me greatly. I simply stood in place._

"_Don't leave, okay?" Fakir asked like a small child in need of guidance._

"_Okay. I'm not leaving." I answered._

_The look in his eyes was nothing short of lost. It was almost as if he had given up all hope. I repeated my reassurance in order to get him to calm down._

"_I'm not going anywhere."_

"_DAMN YOU!" Fakir cried. "You're losing yourself!" With that, he spun around and stormed off._

* * *

_There isn't really a point in writing this down here. For some reason, I am struck with the idea that this is important somehow, that I need to write in here. But why? It's not as if I'm going to go back and re-read it all._

* * *

_Practice today was fairly nice. Fakir is being odd. Rue, not so much. She's still obsessed with love. Really?_

* * *

_Fakir seems as if he's about to have a major breakdown. I avoided him._

* * *

_Nothing much happened today. Fakir is strange, as usual._

* * *

_Rue seems to like her new pointe shoes. _

_"That's nice." I said._

* * *

_Rue asks me if I love her._

_I don't know, but I say yes anyway._

* * *

_Fakir asks me if I'm alright. _

_I don't know, but I say yes anyway._

* * *

_Forgive me, but I don't want to write anymore. There is simply nothing worth recording._

* * *

Beneath the last entry, in crabbed, spiky handwriting, a single note was written.

_Even though you gave it to me, I didn't read it. I still respect your privacy. But I know one thing. I'm sorry, Mytho. I couldn't save you._

_-Fakir_


	21. Act 3: Return of the Fangirls

_"The dance is a poem of which each movement is a word." Mata Hari_

**Chapter 22: Return of the Fangirls**

**Involving a lesson, a conversation, an interruption, and a quote from Voldemort**

They could often be seen walking together throughout the various streets, talking about whatever struck her thoughts at the moment. He had grown accustomed to her effortless chatter. Oddly enough, he didn't mind. Every once in a while, she would ask him a question about some light trifle—his favorite color, what he thought about those tulips in the garden, how his class had gone the other day, and so on—and, with a slight chuckle, he would answer and add on some small thoughtful observation related to whatever she had been talking about, simply to show her he had been listening to every word she said.

And then there were those conversations that held deeper meaning. Some days, she would be pensive, as if she was considering the mysteries of the world they knew. Unconsciously, he would catch onto the nature of her thoughts and their conversation would turn from the ordinary to the whimsical to the philosophical discussion. Without either of them meaning to walk faster, the pace would increase from their usual leisurely amble, as if they were trying to arrive at a destination neither knew had been there previously.

"Do you like stories?" Ahiru asked one day, playing with her crimson braid.

That was quite possibly one of the most open-ended questions Fakir had ever heard. He gave her a dubious look, as if to ask, _What are you trying to say, you moron?_

"I mean…" She retied the end of her braid thoughtfully. "I meant those ballet stories. I feel like the same person wrote them all, you know what I mean?"

"Tchaikovsky, probably." Fakir returned, somewhat lightheartedly. "Stories are nice when you're not in them. The problem with that is that everyone's in a story."

"But some stories don't make sense. I never got why some people live and others die, much less why authors get to decide who lives and who dies. Shouldn't the people in the story decide that? Usually, only the good people live and the bad people die, right? Unless it's a tragedy. Then the bad people win."

"Hm..." Fakir answered. "What if you can't tell the difference between what we call evil and good? Some people say that there is no good or evil, there's only power and those too weak to seek it. Is power evil?"

Ahiru shrugged. "I don't think so. It's not evil to want power. It's just when you do immoral things with that power that you become evil."

"Perhaps. And another thing—does it mean you _win_ when you survive the story? In most stories, it does. Some people die, and those people are the losers. But what if you die for a greater cause? Do you win or do you lose?"

Their footsteps echoed on the pavement.

"Then you become a martyr. Or just someone who's really stupid." Ahiru replied gravely. "That gets into a whole new thing entirely, I guess. Everybody dies in the end, anyway. Winning and losing become like trying to describe a world of color with just black and white."

"And it all depends on if you're 'evil' or 'righteous'." Fakir finished.

Ahiru shook her head. "I don't think those stories have anything to do with real life. It's kind of hard to apply that to us anyway."

"Maybe." Fakir looked into the sky, hands in his pockets, as Ahiru continued fiddling with her braid.

Those stories had much more bearing on their lives than either could have guessed.

* * *

Drosselmeyer was getting rather sick of all this adorable cuteness. If he watched them exchange another smile, or fight one more time in that silly non-combative way of theirs, he would get downright nauseous from the happiness of it. There was no question that this story was becoming terribly, terribly boring.

"Excuse me." He said to no one in particular, "I have to go and vomit."

And indeed, if he could have vomitted, he would. This had to stop! Rue wasn't being tragic enough and these two were completely ruining everything.

Of course, they _were_ having ironic conversations that served to set the scene for the later acts, but there was no drama! There was no suspicion, no betrayal, no unhappiness! It was high time for things to change, Drosselmeyer decided.

He had gone on developing their little 'romance' for long enough. In any case, he was _fed up_ with this. Drosselmeyer simply couldn't stand watching them for any longer.

And that was why he would be introducing himself to Fakir tomorrow.

"The fangirls shall return!" Drosselmeyer said evilly. "And so shall the darkness that lives in each of our hearts."

* * *

"Very good. Hold your balance. Don't let yourself fall over!"

Ahiru bit her lip as she struggled to stay on balance en releve. Her calves were beginning to burn from staying up there so long. Fakir insisted that it built strength to balance for as long as she could, but Ahiru thought that three minutes was a little much. Still, she would never tell Fakir that; she was grateful for every second of his instruction.

_That reminds me! _ Ahiru suddenly remembered Rue's promise. Ahiru had helped her sneak into Mytho's room, hadn't she? _I have to ask Rue about my pointe lessons! As good as Fakir is, he's not exactly a master of dancing en pointe. But it seems as if I can't talk to Rue whenever I try to find her. She's always gone somewhere, and she leaves really early after class! Maybe she's sick or something. It doesn't matter. I'll keep trying! _

Fakir tilted her chin upwards slightly.

"Don't look down, either, you moron. Look at a point in the distance, as if you're watching a sunset. When you look at the ground, that's exactly where you'll go. And by that I mean falling flat on your face."

Granted, she had improved tremendously, but there was no such thing as perfect balance in ballet.

"Not bad. You can come down now."

Relieved, she let herself stand flat-footed on the ground.

"How would you like to learn some of the basic lifts for partnering?" Fakir asked. "I think you've gotten strong enough."

"I don't know..." Ahiru answered. "The thought of being up in the air is somewhat...well, I don't want you to drop me..."

Fakir scoffed at the thought. "Never. You _have_ taken partnering classes, haven't you?"

"Well, yes." Ahiru said. "But my feet were always on the ground. I remember when you showed me the fish dive, once, and that's as close as I've ever been to actually being lifted off the ground. In that class we did pirouettes, penches, sometimes jumps, arabesques, stuff like that. Don't tell anyone, but I was kind of glad because those guys were just as new at it as we were."

"I would never drop _anyone_." Fakir answered. "Unless you have a death wish and start _trying_ to fall over."

"All right. I wouldn't do that..."

"If anyone could do it, it would be someone like you. Just don't look at the ground. Look at the sky." Fakir told her, gesturing vaguely above her head.

"You mean the ceiling."

"Yes." Fakir considered the matter. "I'll tell you what. We'll start with one that's not too challenging. You don't have to hold an arabesque in the air, or one of those leaps. All you have to do is sit on my shoulder. It's the coming down part that's tricky, though."

"So what do I do?" Ahiru queried.

Fakir gave her a look that said _Idiot__, weren't you listening?_

* * *

Within five minutes, Ahiru was trying to avoid looking at the ground as she sat on Fakir's shoulder. His shoulder, although well-muscled, was not a very good pillow, and Ahiru had to admit that it was somewhat uncomfortable. One of her arms was above her head in a soft half-circle, the other rounded to the side, her feet were pointed, and Fakir had a firm grip on her waist.

"Sit up straight." Fakir told her. "Straighter. Arms towards the ceiling."

Ahiru obeyed, still deliberately avoiding looking at the ground.

"Okay. Try to keep your balance. I'm going to let go, and then you're going to lean backwards and perform a backflip onto the floor." Fakir instructed.

Ahiru spared a glance downward to give him a look of sheer terror.

Fakir tried to keep from smiling. "Just kiddding, idiot. I'll only let go with one hand. You should be able to remain on balance."

Ahiru nodded resolutely, relieved that she wouldn't have to magically learn how to do a backflip.

"See?" Fakir asked. "It wasn't that difficult."

Ahiru looked at herself in the mirror, that elegant red-haired dancer perching on Fakir's shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"It's much easier than I expected." She said, grinning.

"Careful." Fakir said, suddenly alarmed as he noticed her weight shift too far backwards. Indeed, it was too late. Ahiru felt herself lurch over her center of balance as her arms began to flail. "EEP!" She shrieked, prepared to die a painful death.

Realizing that he couldn't stop her from falling over, Fakir quickly let go and in a matter of milliseconds launched himself backwards to dive at the ground precisely where she was about to land.

He hit the ground with a painful thud, but luckily Ahiru's landing was much more gentle.

"Gotcha." Fakir said proudly, having successfully caught her at great expense to himself. _Another stamp for my man-card: while dancing in a pas de deux, dive at the ground like a ninja to catch a girl who's fallen. _

"What a moron. You even managed to fall while dancing with a ballet master." Fakir smirked.

"Hey! That was all your fault. You distracted me by talking to me." Ahiru said indignantly.

"_You_ were the one who lost your balance and _I _ was the one who caught you."

"But you said you wouldn't drop me!"

"It was out of necessity. Believe me, that would've hurt." Fakir told her. He became puzzled at the devilish smile that crossed Ahiru's face and finally asked, "Well, moron? What is it?"

"Seeing as you won't let me fall, let's try that again!" Ahiru said cheerfully, standing up and offering him an outstretched palm.

Fakir's gaze darted somewhere past her on something in the doorway. Ahiru fought the urge to turn and see what he was looking at. Suddenly, he had vanished from where he was sitting and bolted out the door with great urgency.

Miffed at having her proffered palm ignored, she stood crossly. "Hey! Where did you go? FAKIR!"

"Hang on!" His call came from the hallway. With a sigh, Ahiru walked over to lean against the barre (even though this was the one thing she _expressly_ had been told not to do) and waited. She heard Fakir's voice speaking in a low tone, and several girlish titters.

Regardless of the suspiciousness of it, she trusted Fakir enough to wait in place. After two minutes, he came back in with a superior expression.

"So…" Ahiru began.

Fakir gave her a look of pointed disdain. "They won't be bothering us again. I promise."

"What! What did you do?" Ahiru demanded.

"I promised them all my signatures for their scrapbooks if and only if they would give us some semblance of _privacy_ and quit trying to pester you. Honestly, all the times they've tried? It's a wonder they haven't succeeded yet." His tone took on a self-congratulatory air. "You should be thankful I'm usually there to stop them."

Ahiru had no idea what he was talking about, but she was fairly sure that he was telling the truth. "Thank you, Fakir."

"The danger has been removed. You are completely safe." He said in all seriousness.

"Fat chance!" Drosselmeyer yelled at him, although neither of the two could hear the old story-teller. "I am sick of all this! Quit being so adorable!"

Ahiru gave him a small nudge. "Of course. All because of you! But really, you have to tell me what they were trying to get away with this time."

"Don't be ridiculous. It doesn't matter anymore." Fakir answered, with a trace of superiority.

"Yes it does! I want to know!"

"Of course not, you moron."

"Why do you always call me that? You're the moron!" Ahiru said, highly affronted.

"And for thinking that I'm a moron, that makes you an idiot. I am clearly _not_ a moron. I offer my man card as proof." Fakir replied.

"Well, I am _not_ an idiot!" Ahiru replied, vexed at his unflappable responses.

"So says the idiot!" Fakir said, a little more irately this time.

"I don't know who's the idiot, but you're definitely a moron!"

"Silly Ahiru. She can't even tell the difference between a moron and a swordmaster!"

Ahiru paused. "Fakir, I think I'm picking up your vocabulary." Ahiru told him incredulously. The unexpectedness of it made them both laugh as the tension dissipated.

"My pleasure." Fakir answered with a mock bow.

"Now, let's try that again." Ahiru said, but this time he was the one to offer her his hand. Smiling, she accepted.

Drosselmeyer looked positively ready to strike them with a lightning bolt where they stood.


	22. Act 3: The Love Parallelogram

**Chapter 23: The Love Parallelogram**

**Involving a new love parallelogram, mind games between Fakir and Rue, a very innocent Ahiru, and conspicuous discord**

That same day, as Drosselmeyer glowered at the too-happy dancing couple, Rue closed the little book in her hands with a snap. She had read it several times and yet found herself strangely frustrated.

What_ did this mean?_ Rue asked herself. It seemed that Mytho had come from another place far away, that he had made a sacrifice involving a step away from immortality, and he had lost his soul, so to speak, as a result of this sacrifice. Even Fakir had been unable to stop it from happening. And it turned out Fakir had a different side towards Mytho than unfeeling protector! As hard as she might try, Rue could not imagine Fakir crying. It simply did not fit with his personality.

Had Mytho been of royalty, once? Did he belong somewhere else? Did he have a greater destiny?

And here, Rue allowed herself to believe something she knew wasn't true.

_If I link my fate with his…if I can somehow turn into Svanna again… maybe I can get closer to him and find out more about him…maybe I can even save him from his fate!_

Yes, it was an exciting thought. Drosselmeyer had promised her that her wish would be granted once more, and as soon as it happened...

Rue had the gnawing feeling, though, that continued pursual of this hopeless dream couldn't get her very far. But it did provide a way for her to bring herself closer to Mytho. She had no idea what was going on inside his head now, but she did have a greater clue as to the truth of his past.

But what if he went looking for his journal? Trying to return it to his room would be nothing short of foolish at this point. Rue wasn't stupid enough to attempt that. Hopefully no one would notice it was missing.

"But someone will... tomorrow...luckily, you won't be the one to suffer for it..." Drosselmeyer murmured, now turning his attention to Rue as he rubbed his hands together excitedly.

* * *

Rue knew she couldn't avoid Ahiru forever. Rue was greatly surprised that Ahiru hadn't been caught back then in the boys' dormitory. How in the world had she managed to get out of that room without Rue's help? However, Ahiru didn't seem to know that Rue had left her there, and Rue would play along while it lasted. She would be sure not to ask Ahiru any questions about the matter, for she would be sure to betray her actions and lose Ahiru's trust (which she knew wasn't deserved).

She had been quietly disappearing after rehearsals, but Ahiru was persistent.

On the dawn of the next day, it had been about a week after she had persuaded Ahiru to steal the notebook. Right before rehearsal, Rue stood face to face with Ahiru, who looked somewhat confused.

"Rue? What about the pointe lessons?" Ahiru asked, wondering what Rue was thinking. The thought that Rue could be so manipulative hadn't even occurred to her. "I did my part."

"Oh, Ahiru. I'm so sorry. I can barely walk after all this pointe dancing." Rue said with a great deal of feigned pain. "I don't think I can help you right now. I'm really sorry. You've gotten so much better, though. You don't even need my help."

"No! I do!" Ahiru protested. "Please, Rue!"

"I'm so sorry." Rue told her. "I've been feeling sick for a while, too, and it's all getting to be too much."

Ahiru's natural sympathy took over, and she gave Rue what she thought was a well-deserved hug. _You idiot_, Rue thought, _I just told you I was sick! What if it was some contagious, deadly influenza?_

"It's all right. I didn't mean to bother you."Ahiru apologized.

Rue nodded weakly, turning to warm up before she started dancing. "Don't worry about it." Inwardly, Rue shone with triumph.

* * *

"What is this? Does our little Pique have an eye on someone?" Lillie squealed as they sat on the ground in rehearsal that day, watching Autor as instructed Rue and Mytho on how to dance the Pas de Deux of Odile and the Prince.

"No!" Pique said, looking away from the young man.

"I think..." Ahiru answered, glad that for once the attention was not focused on her and her own love life. "I think that it must be!"

"Pique, you have to tell us!" Lillie pleaded. "We can even start a fan club for you!"

"No." Pique replied, more gently this time, as a blush colored her cheeks. "I refuse!"

"He's fairly good-looking, I'll grant you that." Lillie prattled.

"Just quit, okay?"

"No! We will never quit, Pique, unless you confess. TO HIM! YOU HAVE TO!"

Autor strode over, looking annoyed. "Why are you all shouting? Be quiet and let me concentrate."

"Pique has something to tell you! Pique, talk! CONFESS!"

"What, has she killed someone? No, I thought not. Be quiet!" Autor said forcefully. "What would she even confess, anyway?" He muttered to himself as he made his way back over to Rue.

"Now Rue, you have to be sure to make angular lines with your arms. It's nothing like Odette, with those fluttery movements. Odile is sharp, strong, seductive, and she's bringing sexy back. Also, it's imperative that..." Rue nodded dutifully as he continued.

"See?" Pique whispered. "I don't...I could never have a chance. Rue is so _perfect_ that I'm nothing next to her."

Ahiru's brow furrowed. Unrequited love...how bittersweet it could be. She could only give thanks that she hadn't suffered from it so far. Still, she wished that she could help Pique somehow...

"Don't worry! We'll help you!" Lillie said, cheerful as ever. "Just CONFESS, and then he'll realize how much he loves you...or more likely, he'll reject you and you'll be terribly heartbroken and eat your weight in ice cream and get fat and join the circus as the fattest person ever and then...you'll die from a heart attack despite our best efforts to save you, and then he'll come and kneel at your grave with flowers and realize that he misses you! And then he'll kill himself too and then we'll stand and sing sad songs in the background. Don't worry, you don't have to pay me anything. It'll be my pleasure."

Pique looked more than slightly miffed. "Lillie, that's not helping." Ahiru told Lillie.

"Oh, well then we'll have to try to help her!" Lillie proclaimed.

"But he's fallen for _Rue_!" Pique murmured hopelessly. "He's so brilliant, sitting there and sketching his notes in that notebook. He's young, too, to be a choreographer, and he does it so well!...But Rue and Mytho _belong_ together, somehow, and yet Autor occupies himself with helping her as much as he can and forgets everyone else. I wish I had a chance with him."

Ahiru fell silent with respect. "I'm sorry." She said quietly, knowing it was small consolation for the sadness Pique must feel. Lillie, however, was overjoyed.

"IT DOESN'T MATTER!" Lillie shouted loudly, ignoring confused looks from the cast. Small talk was all right, but Lillie had just crossed the threshhold from soft chattering to unabashed loudness.

As Autor came over angrily with that self-appointed authority, Lillie pointed at him.

"CONFESS!" She commanded directly to Pique. Ahiru had to admit, there was a method to Lillie's madness.

Pique remained motionless, staring with concentrated fury at Lillie, and then shot a scandalized look at Ahiru, who stiffled her laughter. Autor didn't seem to notice or care. "What did I tell you three? BE QUIET or I'll have you sit out this rehearsal. Don't make me tell you again."

"Lillie, I swear you're crazy." Pique huffed. "What did I tell you?"

"She can't help it." Ahiru whispered back. "But now we really do have to be quiet, because we might actually get kicked out of rehearsal."

* * *

Later, that same rehearsal became unnerving for Fakir. If he had known what was to happen that night, he might have been downright angst-ridden. However, as it was, for he simply felt at unease.

"This won't do! Fakir, more aggressive! Rue, less hesitation!" Autor commanded.

Fakir concentrated, trying not to let his reservation show. He was supposed to be acting as Rothbart in the height of his glory: when the prince had finally chosen the black swan. And yet as he presented Rue as Odile, he couldn't hide his suspicion of her.

He knew that there was no logical reason to connect Rue to the object of Mytho's daydreams. The relationship between Rue and the prince had faltered; everyone knew that. But what if it was all part of some twisted scheme Rue had made in order to convince everyone of a much deeper falsehood?

As she danced, he could sense in her unguarded moments that a darker irregularity emerged; there was some sort of fascinating yearning in her movements. Perhaps she was an amazing actress who managed to capture Odile perfectly. But if not...What was her role in this story? Was she pretending to be lost in grief while secretly rejoicing at her ownership of Mytho's heart? Did she truly have the malicious capacity to plot against Mytho? And maybe even against Fakir?

Rue herself refused to show Fakir that she was going to be timid. Although her better side whispered that he had thoughts and feelings too, that he cared about Mytho as deeply as she did, Rue pushed those ideas away. He was trying to intimidate her, she knew, with his distrustful glances and small smirks. Let him wonder what she was planning. She had always been the master of what she showed to others; she wasn't subject to embarrassing quirks such as blushing or stuttering. And now, as always, it would work to her advantage.

Yet Autor was furious with them both. "You're too divided. Remember, you stand united in victory as Rothbart and his daughter! Why are you acting wary of each other?"

He then turned on Mytho. "Prince! What…what…what are you doing? You're acting too dutiful. Your dancing is mechanical. Be entranced with the princess! Act as if you think she's the true love of your life!"

_If only_, thought Rue. Not only were the three angering Autor, but it had become clear that the interaction between them had become completely unsteady.

"Swan Queen alternate! Come here! Dance in this scene, please."

Rue stole a glance at Ahiru, who had been watching silently, and then at Fakir. It was the general consensus of the school community (with the exception of Fakir's fangirls) that these two were quite possibly the best-matched couple to ever grace the halls. In both countenance and personality, Fakir and Ahiru were so different that they completed each other in a way that could scarcely be defined.

While Rue and Mytho had drifted further apart, the opposite had happened to Fakir and Ahiru. Rue knew that she should be happy for Ahiru, but it simply was not in Rue's nature to rejoice for another's happiness when she herself was so wretched. She had quit trying, even.

"Let's see if we can make this scene a little better." Autor said, eyebrows furrowed. The music started again. This time, the cohesive quality between Fakir and Ahiru was palpable. As she smiled happily, the corners of Fakir's mouth came the closest they ever had to a smile in public.

_Sexy badass dancer knight who never smiles reputation? Almost got ruined. But I don't care. She's the only innocent one in this entire mess_, Fakir said to himself.

Mytho could not help but catch Ahiru's contagious cheer. He didn't act quite as a lovestruck prince made foolish should, but his gloominess seemed to have improved.

Rue, angered by this, felt like rushing in to claim her rightful place. Even though Ahiru could not match Rue's pointe-work, the overall scene appeared much more as it should be. Ahiru had also become a more skilled dancer; she wobbled less frequently and could sustain some of the more difficult poses for a while. Seeing Ahiru like this kindled the jealousy in Rue's heart.

"Very good!" Autor said approvingly. "Much better." He ran through the scene another time before announcing, "Now, we shall choreograph the finale."

Fakir caught Ahiru's gaze from across the room. Although she could not hear his words, she read his lips. _Nicely done, moron._

It took all of her self control not to jump up and down with glee.


	23. Act 3: A Murder of Ravens

**[A/N]** EXTRA LONG CHAPTER! YAY!

On a side note, the Swan Lake finale is truly one of Tchaikovsky's masterpieces (definitely worth listening to if you have time!), but there have been so many different endings choreographed to it over the past years. What will Autor decide?

**Chapter 24: A Murder of Ravens**

"Now, who can guess which ending I'll choose for our finale?" Autor asked the entire cast.

Fakir knew that this was a trick question. There were several endings to Swan Lake; the prince defeats Rothbart and lives happily ever after with his princess: Odette and the prince leap into the lake together, destroy Rothbart's curse, and live eternally in heaven: Rothbart slays the prince with a summoned storm and Odette is left to weep over his dead body: both Rothbart and the prince slaughter each other in battle and Odette is left forever a swan: Rothbart triumphs and Odette and the prince are separated, the spell unbroken: Rothbart kills Odette and the enraged prince tears off Rothbart's wings, destroying his powers, and then kneels in grief next to the lifeless Odette…yes, there were much too many endings.

Fakir looked around. Evidently no one was dumb enough to try to challenge the ending Autor had come up with. Whatever Autor had thought up, Fakir hoped it be at least marginally uplifting. He had never been one to get all excited about that 'let's die and live freely' kind of rubbish.

Autor smiled at the silence, his glasses gleaming white, as he nodded at the pianist to begin playing.

"Listen." Autor ordered to no one in particular, "Afterwards, tell me what you think should happen."

Murmurs of disbelief rose. Would Autor really allow them to determine the ending based on suggestions from the cast? What was he planning?

The music had become suspenseful, agitated, as it came in staccato bursts. Notes came at a faster flow as the tempo rose. The crescendo came in loud, powerful, sweeping chords; the entire studio seemed to be shaken with the intensity of it, and Ahiru could barely see the pianist's hands as they flurried across the keys.

And then rose a lilting melody, sweet as a snow-capped winter sunrise. It seemed bring resolution, almost harmony.

Three final-sounding chords announced the end of the ballet.

"What do you think?" Autor demanded of Rue.

Rue swallowed. "I think that that Siegfried and Odette's love should conquer Rothbart. Rothbart should die in wretchedness as the lovers watch in triumph."

This generated nods from several of the corps de ballet. Autor considered her for a moment. He then turned to Mytho. "What about you?"

Mytho's eyes suddenly flicked violet. "The prince should stab Rothbart through the heart and save his princess, and they should live forever in a beautiful ice castle. Or maybe that's just blatant foreshadowing."

Ahiru tilted her head, confused. _What foreshadowing? _

Autor began to wear a knowing smile as he turned to her. "Ahiru?"

Ahiru blushed furiously. Fakir knew she was thinking about her own wished-for happy ending. What he didn't know was that she was trying to avoid looking in his direction. "The swans should overcome Rothbart and the prince and Odette can live happily ever after."

"Fakir?"

Fakir knew what he thought on this subject. _Don't care what happens to Odette and the prince, but Rothbart should die. _It was nice to play a character that he personally hated. He cleared his throat. "Rothbart has a convenient heart attack decided on by some god who wrote his name in a notebook and everyone goes home. End of story."

"Creative, Fakir. Maybe you should write a story about that."

_Oh, I will. _Fakir thought. _It'll be epic._

"How many people want a happy ending?" Autor asked.

Not a single hand remained unraised. Unanimously, the entire cast had agreed on a happy ending. From somewhere in the crowd, Femio shouted, "The prince offers Odette a bouquet of red roses! And a diamond ring! And lots of other stuff!"

Fakir could have sworn that a fourth of the girls in the cast swooned. Autor's smile turned from knowing to sinister. "And this, precisely, is why our ending shall be as thus. The prince hurries onto the stage, finds Odette, and begs for her forgiveness. Pained and heartbroken yet compassionate, she embraces him. Insert some dancing. Rothbart comes out, and Odette quickly realizes there is no hope. Insert some more dancing. She rushes to the cliff, gives her lover one last look, and proceeds to leap off the cliff to her death on the rocks below. The prince gasps, drowning in grief, and then hurls himself off the cliff as well. The music soars as Rothbart looks over the cliff, rejoicing in his victory. More dancing by the corps de ballet. The sun begins to rise as the maidens become swans once more. The curse? Unbroken. Forever. _Fin._"

Murmurs rippled through the cast. Even Fakir was confused. _Way to be contrary, Autor._

Next to him, Ahiru took a step back, curious and disgruntled. Without thinking, Fakir drew her closer to his side to offer her comfort. Ahiru's blush became even more pronounced.

"All right everybody, let's begin!" Autor announced, clapping his hands. "Mytho, stage right. Rue, stay to the-"

"Wait." Ahiru said uncertainly, "I don't understand. Why are you..."

"Sh!" Fakir said, trying to get her to hush before it was too late. "Ahiru, be quiet! We don't want to listen to another one of his..."

Autor smiled broadly. "Thank you. I was hoping someone would ask. Now, let's take a couple of minutes to talk about why..."

"...monologues." Fakir finished hopelessly, letting out a prolonged sigh.

"...we're choosing this ending, a tragedy." Autor continued. "Isn't it beautiful? It's not real, obviously. Just look at how pretty it sounds when you say it aloud! 'Not even death could test the strength of their love.' It's simply gorgeous, as long as it's not in real life! But as long as it's in a story, it's so _tragic_ and _poetic! _You can't just end the thing with 'and then they lived happily ever after as magical lollipops sprang from the ground and no one died'. Then it's not _worth_ the trouble to get there."

Fakir realized that it would not be wise to try to persuade Autor on the subject. Probably, it would lead to forcing the entire cast to endure another twenty of Autor's monologues on 'Why we should all like tragedies'. Instead, he held Ahiru closer still. Her arms wrapped around him shyly.

Most of the fangirls looked ready to kill Ahiru. Fakir made a mental note to himself to offer them more signatures in the future. Sometimes, concessions had to be made in order to secure Ahiru's safety.

"Back to work! Let's get to choreographing the ending!" Autor announced.

Meanwhile, Rue felt her pulse quickening.

_Sick obsession with tragedies: check. _

_Long monologue about why tragedies are great: check. _

_'We should make people suffer for fun!': check._

"AUTOR, YOU'RE MY HERO!" Lillie screeched out of nowhere. "And I thought I was the only sadist who appreciated suffering in all its beauty!"

* * *

Rehearsal had ended. Autor announced, "Good job everyone. Tomorrow, be prepared for a surprise now that we have finished choreographing the ballet. Of course, we still have a ways to go until the production, but…I say we celebrate tomorrow! We shall go on a trip somewhere, but I promise it'll be walking distance. See you later everybody! You are dismissed!" With that, he sat back down in his chair and continued sketching his arrows from left to right across the stage drawn in his notebook.

Rue had wondered about Autor. His ideas about tragedies scared her, but she could not help but be fascinated. Now, as he finished his dismissal of the cast, Rue saw her chance.

She hurried towards him. "Autor?"

He closed his notebook. "Yes."

"I want to ask you something."

Autor removed his glasses as his dark eyes bored into her.

Rue hesitated. She wasn't exactly sure what she wanted to ask him, but deep in her heart she feared that he had a connection to Drosselmeyer. They both shared that odd obsession with tragedies, that trace of arrogance, that insistence on unhappiness for characters. Although Rue knew that it couldn't have mattered less what the ending of the ballet would be, she also felt that it had a deeper significance she could not fully grasp...yet.

"Er...was there an influence that was the reason you found tragedies poetic?" Rue asked, trying to edge in sideways at the subject of a mysterious ghost writer who liked to toy with people's lives.

"From the music I think it's clear the ballet's not supposed to end happily, if you're wondering about our specific production." Autor answered, managing to fly off on a spectacular tangent. "But besides, in general? Just by reading. I've always found tragedies much more significant than comedies or dramas or romances. Maybe that's just me. When I studied the makings of stories, I also found that I wasn't suited to be an actor, as I had initially intended." Autor's expression darkened. "Nothing but a character controlled by a puppetmaster. I had no importance besides what I was allotted. This infuriated me, and I couldn't allow it. I wanted the power to write, the power to create. The power to change lives, even imaginary ones. I became a specialist in scriptwriting and choreography. For this project, the director the production wanted someone with an intimate knowledge of both drama and dance to choreograph the production. I was perfect for the job in spite of my age."

He smiled at how she had unknowingly been drawn in by his words. _See? Monologues aren't entirely useless_, he told himself.

"It's been a year. I can still recognize talent when I see it, and there's talent in you."

"Really?" Rue stepped closer. They were now face to face.

"Your style is best suited to Odile, admittedly. Breathtakingly fragile yet darkly sensual. It's very complex…you don't see it often…and…I find it hard to look away." Autor murmured, feeling as if he was describing her right now.

* * *

Pique had taken an unusually long time to remove her pointe shoes and don her scarf, jacket, and skirt. Now, she stood leaning against the barre at the edge of the room, pretending to undo the bun atop her head but really listening to Autor and Rue as they talked.

Already, she had felt her hope dimming. Although Rue believed Mytho belonged to her, she would not hesitate to manipulate her way into Autor's heart. Pique, who like Ahiru was pragmatic enough to believe in _choosing_ one person or the other in terms of romantic relationships, could hardly imagine why Rue would do such a thing. And it was obvious that Autor cared for Rue…until now, Pique had hoped that it was something passing, something she could and would work around.

But Rue wouldn't leave it at that. She was just coquettish enough to let Autor believe that he _might_ have a chance with her.

Most likely, his heart would be broken. But not before Pique's heart would be.

"Oh, I have grand plans for your heart, Pique." Drosselmeyer said, rubbing his hands together. "Just you wait."

Pique's eyes widened as she witnessed what happened next.

Autor's breath choked out of him as Rue hugged him spontaneously. It was more a choke-hold than an embrace, but Autor didn't mind. He froze, his heart almost forgetting to beat. "Thank you," she whispered, her hair against his cheek, and stepped away.

Pique's eyes narrowed. _How could she?_

Autor stood there clutching his notebook as Rue dashed off. His words had given her what she needed. She was Rue, strong and sensual.

Even though she could not bewitch Mytho, she could act in her own interest…in another way.

* * *

Rehearsal had just ended, and Fakir and Ahiru were walking outside together: Ahiru to take a break from studying and dancing, and Fakir simply to be next to her. With nimble fingers, Ahiru undid her ballet bun so that muted crimson hair spilled down her back.

"Today is the day the fun begins!" Drosselmeyer cackled. "I shouldn't have waited this long!"

"Look, Fakir!" Ahiru said, her voice becoming concerned as she peered upwards.

Fakir followed the line of her gaze, hand on the hilt of his sword. At least a hundred beady-eyed black crows perched on the roof of the building. More and more of them flocked in the sky above their heads. Dark shadows dappled the golden sunlight in Ahiru's hair as she stood, transfixed at the sight.

Fakir shook his head, unable to withstand the torrent of memories overwhelming him. He knew that these weren't the same birds, and yet the very sight of raven wings made him feel unstable and dizzy. A single raven might not seem to pose much of a danger, but he knew just how vicious they could be.

"Ahiru, let's go." Fakir told her with a jerk of his head away from the ballet studio.

"Are you mad at me?" She asked, tilting her head worriedly.

"No. I just want to get away from here."

"Sure. I'm really sorry if I…I mean, I don't really…I'm just going to stop talking now." Ahiru babbled, unsure of what to say.

As they turned to leave, out of the corner of his vision Fakir distinctly saw part of the black flock swoop downwards off the edge of the roof. Seized by irrational fear, he leapt in front of Ahiru, sword already out.

His fears were not misplaced. The dark swarm of wings hurtled towards them in an unforgiving flurry. Fakir could hear Ahiru's sharp intake of breath as she rose to her tiptoes to clutch at his shoulders.

"They won't try to kill us, will they Fakir?" Ahiru asked.

Fakir didn't answer; reflexes reacted faster than thoughts. His sword was already humming through the air in flashes of silver as he managed to defend Ahiru and himself from aerial attacks as well as from all sides. This time, he had no qualms about the birds' lives, for their wine-red eyes glowed with hidden evil and he knew without a doubt that they meant murder. Everywhere he turned, there was another raven trying to make it past his flying sword.

Fakir felt himself driven by vengeance and rage, merciless to the cold-hearted creatures. _This time, I will not fail._

When the flurry of birds diminished, he saw just as many birds as before, cruelly observing him from their perches on the roof.

"Ahiru." Fakir gasped, short of breath from his exertions, "I think we're safe now." He sheathed his sword, dropping to a kneel with a hand flat on the ground to stabilize himself.

_This warrants another man card stamp, because if someone had taken a video this could be used for the definition of badass. Save innocent girl from attacking ravens…who strike from all sides as well as above. Well done, Fakir!_

A single raven sped past him in a blur as it dive-bombed Ahiru.

By the time Fakir had bounded back up and redrawn his sword, he already knew it was too late. What could have happened to her in those three seconds? Would she already be covered in scratches and cuts all over, or would the crow have gone for the kill immediately? Vicious claw-marks across her cheeks from those black talons, her eyes gouged out, her neck skewered? Fakir shuddered at the thought.

The sight he saw sickened him to his stomach.


	24. Act 3: Fakir, Mysteriously Absent

_"A greater power than we can contradict hath thwarted our intents." Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet_

**Chapter 25: Fakir, Mysteriously Absent**

"Aw! Look at him! He just wants to be loved!" Ahiru hummed, petting the raven as it nestled in her slender arms. "Isn't he adorable, Fakir?"

The juxtaposition of something as evil as the raven and a girl as bright and lovely as Ahiru…was almost inconceivable to Fakir. He blinked at Ahiru as she cuddled the feathered raven, stroking its dark glossy wings. She was seemingly oblivious to _everything._

The raven tilted its monstrous head at Fakir, its red eyes glinting dangerously. Horrendous memories whirled through his head at the raven's gaze.

Suddenly, Fakir felt very, very stupid. _You overreacted. Not everything's about heroics and saving the day. Not deserving of a man card stamp at all. _

Yet, his lips tightened into a grimace. Ahiru looked up, suddenly remembering about Fakir. "Fakir! Come over! I promise he won't peck you! He's really, really nice! I'm calling him Fluffy! Why don't you try to pet him?"

At the revolted look on Fakir's face, Ahiru knelt and gently released the crow from her embrace. "I love you!" She sang, petting the top of its head affectionately. "Go, little Fluffy! Fly and be free!"

Fakir could have sworn the crow gave him the evil eye before taking to the air, wings beating in harsh, jagged strides, to join its brethren on the roof.

"What are you doing!?" Fakir snarled, having reluctantly re-sheathed his sword. "That thing could have killed you!"

"But it didn't!" Ahiru said innocently, hands clasped over her chest in the picture of naiveté. "He's adorable! And guess what? Fluffy wouldn't have killed me! I know it!"

Fakir rubbed his temple, at a loss for words. "You're putting yourself in danger. It doesn't work that way. There only needs to be one murderous raven for you to lose your life."

"Well, maybe you're the one who's too paranoid!" Ahiru said indignantly. "Just look at how Fluffy turned out!"

"You IDIOT!" Fakir scowled. "Calling a raven FLUFFY? Ravens aren't fluffy, you moron! They have feathers!"

"I know, but, well, feathers can be fluffy!" Ahiru returned.

"You know what, you moron? Forget it. Next time I won't overreact." Fakir said. Instantly, he regretted that he had said such a thing.

Ahiru seemed taken aback, but she was too stubborn to concede. "Fine then."

"Fine." Fakir returned.

For a moment, the two simply stood there, arms crossed, hoping the other would compromise. Ahiru didn't understand why Fakir was so upset about Fluffy. Why couldn't he just move on? These were nice ravens, not the kind that wanted to kill people!

Fakir, for his part, didn't see how Ahiru could be such an idiot. Ravens were vicious. They could kill, and they already had killed...his parents. Maybe that particular raven... _Fluffy_... could have not sliced her body to shreds with cold, black talons, but the rest? All set for murder. He hadn't liked the look in Fluffy's red eyes, either.

_Maybe all ravens like her. Maybe you're the one who's an idiot_. A voice whispered, and Fakir shook his head.

"I'll see you at our lessons today, then." Fakir said, somewhat distant. The image of Ahiru, bright-haired and angelic, cuddling the evil raven seemed to be stuck in his mind. That tender look in her eyes usually reserved for Fakir for that _raven_, of all creatures, belonging to the foul fowl who had murdered his parents...What had she said? _I love you... _her sweet voice had whispered to the monstrous black bird. _I love you..._

_Am I so pathetic that I'm getting jealous of a bird? Named Fluffy? _Fakir asked himself.

"Bye. I'm going to go dance now." Ahiru replied, and with that she turned and left.

Fakir was left, doubting himself, the ravens, and even Ahiru. Had those ravens meant murder? Was Fluffy actually a friendly raven? Or was Fakir simply dramatizing everything in order to get man card stamps?

The murder of ravens perched on the roof of the studio fixed him under their unyielding red-eyed gazes, and Fakir could not pretend that he didn't feel terror gathering in his heart.

* * *

Ahiru was alone, stretching in the splits, when she heard a knock at the door.

"Come in!" she called. Rue entered, her wine-red eyes searching Ahiru's instantly. Ahiru stopped what she was doing and went to Rue at once. "Hi Rue! How are you doing?"

"Well, thank you." Rue replied.

"Did you hear the suspicious disembodied voice again?" Ahiru asked, suddenly remembering with the ditziness that was her trademark characteristic.

"Oh, no. I might have been just dreaming."

Rue had seemed so urgent on that day. It was highly unlikely. Ahiru bit her lip, debating on whether she should tell Rue about the night she had found herself in the form of Odette. It seemed so long ago, and now it hardly even mattered. Maybe she had simply been hallucinating. She decided against it.

"Okay..." For a moment there was silence.

"What did you think of rehearsal today?" Rue asked.

Ahiru tried to appear nonchalant. "I don't think Autor should choreograph the ballet with both the prince and princess leaping to their death. Even though their love lives eternally and all that stuff, I'd rather have them embrace in real life on the stage."

"Why does it matter so much to you?"

Ahiru looked at Rue hesitantly.

"Does it have to do with Fakir?"

Ahiru's breath caught in her throat. Suddenly, it all came spilling out. "I know it's just a story, but I can't help but feel that all endings should be happy... Fakir, he..." Ahiru looked up, and Rue could read what she was feeling.

"Fakir? I don't think he's that keen on them. Didn't you notice he just said that Rothbart should die? He's more interested in justice."

Ahiru's eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"And besides, he's incredible at dancing. I've also heard that he's a swordmaster; can you believe it? He probably thinks that his 'happy ending' involves someone just as talented as he is. Hell, can you imagine being that good at everything? No wonder half the girls in the school belong to his fanclub." Rue tried to hide her smirk. The damage was just beginning.

Ahiru stammered, "but...but I..."

"Don't get alarmed! I'm sure he has a brotherly love for you. After all, you're so cute when you trip over nothing. Your dancing is also adorable, especially with your ducklike movements and turned-in feet. It might even be pity that keeps him next to you, but your personalities...and _talents_... are as different as night and day. I'm certain that you're happy, though. Just don't blame me for not warning you when it all goes wrong."

"Prophetic words...you'd do well to listen, little duck!" Drosselmeyer said, an evil scheme clearly dancing in his eyes.

All pretense of composure lost, Ahiru stared at Rue in total alarm. _He did seem very upset with me about the ravens..._

"Well, I'll leave you to your practicing. See you tomorrow!" The door swung behind Rue.

Ahiru was left alone with unsettling thoughts despite the fact she knew they weren't true. It took all the strength of her optimistic character to push Rue's words out of her mind.

* * *

Ahiru had been waiting for ten minutes, and Fakir hadn't arrived. Where was he? Dutifully, she practiced ballet with a calm expression. Tendu. Stretch the leg completely. Plie. Don't sit in that position. Tendu. Plie. Steady flow of motion into develope, on the ground. Place the leg carefully. Develope, extended off the ground. Point the foot, make sure it's properly placed. Balance, en releve, for four counts. Hold the core together, keep the gaze straight ahead, lock the arches to balance without wobbling. Repeat to front, back, and side. Now, for the left. Once more.

She imagined Fakir standing next to her, scowling at the limpness of her arms or the spaghetti-ness of her legs.

He was so inspirational, even though his words were nothing short of insulting. But there was one thing Ahiru had learned about Fakir, it was that he really wanted the best for her in spite of what he said.

After twenty minutes had passed, Ahiru shrugged slightly to herself and tried to explain it away.

_Maybe he's sick. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he has a dance class. Maybe there's a special rehearsal just for him that he can't miss. Maybe he's actually a ninja and he got called away to steal a precious treasure from a vaulted fortress._

_Wouldn't be that surprising, what with his ninja skills and all._

_Or maybe he's so angry with me about Fluffy that he's skipping the lesson. But Fakir's always been reasonable, even though he is an idiot sometimes! How did I manage to fall for a moron like him? A sexy, kick-ass moron who is adored by all the fangirls, but a moron nonetheless. Anyway, I'm sure he'll tell me tomorrow._

It wasn't in her nature to dwell on other, more sinister reasons. Instead, she chuckled to herself lightly at the image of Fakir leaping from building to building, sending silver ninja stars in every direction.

Two hours had passed. Darkness spilled from the windows onto the floor like ink. The black silhouettes of ravens perching on the trees outside were barely visible against the deep black-blue of the night sky.

Ahiru couldn't help a glance behind her to check if Fakir was there in the studio, even though she knew he couldn't be.

Silently, Ahiru left the building as her footsteps quietly pattered against the sidewalk. The dark, moonless sky provided only faint white contours of objects around her in the darkness of the night, making it difficult to find her way. Ahiru hardly noticed, as her head was bowed and her brow furrowed.

Her mind was troubled, Rue's words echoing in her ears and Fakir's stricken expression haunting her thoughts.

_Fakir...where are you?_


	25. End of Act 3: Swan Siren

**[A/N]** Here is this chapter, my gift to you readers for the holidays. What happened to Fakir, and why did he leave Ahiru all alone in the middle of the night, potentially even losing a stamp on his man card? Bonus points to Hanacchan, who pointed out that in this AU, Fakir is the author of Death Note. You may have to resist the urge to shake your fist at Drosselmeyer, who stubbornly refuses to stop meddling.

Without further ado...

_"When sorrows come, they come not single spies, b__ut in battalions." __Shakespeare, Hamlet_

**Chapter 26: Swan Siren**

Fakir burst out of the boys' dormitory to go to the practice room he and Ahiru shared for lessons, looking forward to her chatter more than he would have liked to admit.

That was when time stopped. The girls hurrying past him became frozen in all their chattering glory. The water in the fountain sparkled as it hung in midair. Fakir looked around in concern. What was going on? Whirling around, he saw a peculiar old man walking towards him. The sight was quite odd, especially since he was the only thing that was unfrozen besides Fakir.

"Fakir."

Fakir took a step back suspiciously. "How do you know my name?"

"You are my creation." Drosselmeyer said grandly.

"My father is dead." Fakir told him suspiciously. "And if you _are_ my father, then please say it now and save us a whole lot of confusion."

Instantly, Drosselmeyer became peeved. "Not in _that_ way. I am the grandmaster of this chessboard. You are merely the knight."

"Please just leave me alone!" _Crazy people, _Fakir thought, _saying crazy things. Only a matter of time till I'm one of them._

"Come with me. There are some things you need to know."

There didn't seem to be much of a choice. Fakir followed the old man into the forest, his hand on the hilt of his sword at his hip.

"I should let you know that I don't believe in magic," Fakir stated, nose in the air. Only after the sentence had come out of his mouth did he realize how silly he sounded.

The old man chuckled. "This is not magic. This is reality."

"This isn't real! I'm...I'm dreaming! It's inside my head!"

"Of course it's inside your head...but why should that mean that it isn't real?"

Fakir scowled. "No. It's not that simple!"

"My name is Drosselmeyer. You may be surprised to learn that I know everything about you...not just your name...but your darkest fears, deepest, most desperate desires, what makes your heart catch in your chest, why your character is the way it is...because I _made_ it so."

Deeply unnerved, Fakir made no answer. He noticed that the world around them had started moving again as they walked through the forest, for leaves rustled and crows called above. Fakir had an eerie feeling as they headed deep into the forest.

"Finally, we are here." Drosselmeyer said with a smile. His smile was as incongruous to the rest of his face as was a rose in the fingers of a skeleton.

Fakir's palms began to sweat, and he became certain that the old man was up to no good; they had stopped in a dark clearing surrounded by ominous trees. "What do you want?"

"I do not want anything. I shall simply ask you something... Tell me, Fakir, do you want to protect Mytho?"

"Yes!" _I haven't been lately...Ahiru's taken up all my attention, and I hardly have any time for Mytho, but..._

"Do whatever it takes to save him?"

"Of course!"

"And what is the greatest threat to his safety?"

"That dark swan princess." Fakir said without thinking. He hadn't even known that she was still occupying a large portion of his thoughts, even though she had appeared so long ago.

"Think, Fakir." Drosselmeyer hissed. "Who could she be?"

"It doesn't matter." Fakir told him defiantly, pushing away thoughts of Mytho's empty expression. "She hasn't appeared anymore."

"Is that what you think?"

Fakir paused.

"Perhaps, in the dead of the night while you are asleep, he has quietly escaped to see her. Oh, you trusted him, didn't you? Foolish, foolish…And even if he didn't, his mind remains on her." Drosselmeyer said confidentially.

Fakir strained his mind, trying to remember what he had noticed about Rue or Mytho recently. Nothing much came to his thoughts. For the past few weeks, he hadn't been paying very much attention to Mytho. He had been too preoccupied with Ahiru to make sure Mytho was all right. Guilt leaped in his stomach. How could Fakir have forgotten about Mytho so entirely?

"I think she's connected to Rue." Fakir said decisively, ignoring his thudding heartbeat.

"And why so?"

Fakir struggled to explain himself. "I'm not sure. There's something in her eyes…"

"Perhaps you are focusing on the wrong person." Fakir tried to hide his puzzlement. Rue and Mytho had broken apart a while ago, but it was obvious Rue was still vying for his attention. Maybe the old man didn't know what he was talking about, or perhaps Fakir was the one out of the loop. Drosselmeyer watched with sparkling eyes as Fakir shifted awkwardly, beginning to question his own assumptions.

"Yes…"

"Wouldn't someone else, someone with nothing to lose, seek him? Someone who did not own his heart already, had never been able to claim ownership to his heart before?"

"But who?" Fakir asked curiously, forgetting he was supposed to be grumpy.

"Cunning indeed…not only to bewitch the prince… but, in the name of distraction, to befriend the knight who has sworn to protect him…and perhaps do more than befriend…"

Fakir's mind spun. He hadn't been 'befriended' by anyone…who could it be? Someone who was trying to distract him with companionship…who?

_Ahiru_.

"No! She's not! I refuse to believe it!" Fakir yelled, suddenly furious. Unbidden, the image of Ahiru stroking the blackly feathered wings of the raven rose to his mind.

Drosselmeyer watched with amusement. "Really? Doesn't it make perfect sense?"

"No!" Fakir answered hotly.

"Her false innocence is truly opaque; you cannot see the darkness behind her blue eyes. Your Ahiru may have more than one motive in her 'romance' with you…"

"No way, you sick bastard!" Fakir shouted, hands already balled into fists. "I know Ahiru! You're nothing but a damn liar! Go to hell!"

"I've been there already. It's quite nice, thank you very much." Drosselmeyer answered. His calmness made Fakir even more angry, but he was forced to remain quiet amidst his churning thoughts.

"Think, my boy. Think some more. Why else would she be in Mytho's room, searching through his papers?"

"She didn't mean to!" He retorted, but he knew his logic was faulty and his response was weak.

"Did she ever explain what she was doing? Were you ever able to see past her innocent charm to even ask the question?"

"No." Fakir said in a low tone, loathing himself for having to say so.

"And the ravens...they seem to like her quite well, don't you agree?"

_That gentle smile she usually reserved for Fakir, directed towards the creatures that had murdered his parents...Her slender fingers carressed the dark tufts atop its head as she held the monstrous, black-taloned raven close to her steadily-beating heart..."I love you." She had said. "I love you."_

_Wasn't she supposed to love Fakir? Not the ravens. Not them. _

Fakir's breath halted painfully. "No. She...I don't think...She doesn't..."

"She is the princess of the ravens, and she wanted to him to be completely hers. You stood in her way, but you were no trouble to dispose of. A couple of kind words, a kiss here and there, a coquettish look…and you fell for it without a second thought."

"I refuse to believe it!" Fakir said angrily, his conviction suddenly renewed. "I refuse!"

"Will you refuse to believe this?" Drosselmeyer asked, motioning towards...was that a _gear_ turning in midair? With a moving picture...no, a scene upon it...of Fakir and Ahiru?

"Do not question it." Drosselmeyer said. "Simply watch and understand your folly."

There was Fakir, holding Ahiru in an arabesque as he lectured her about the line of her gaze. Fakir remembered that conversation well as he saw his own lips moving soundlessly in words he had said before. _Don't look at the floor, you're not a snail. Line of sight goes upwards, as if you're an angel reaching for the heavens. _

"I don't understand. Wait, what-" Fakir's words stopped.

The image of Ahiru portrayed on the gear bid Fakir farewell as he strode out of the building. She stayed behind, untying her slender pink pointe shoes. Finally, she stood calmly all alone in the center of the room, facing her reflection in the mirror. Was he imagining the dark, glossy feathers that materialized out of nowhere at her feet? Suddenly, her entire form was enveloped with a dense cloud of whirling feathers. In less than five seconds, they had settled to reveal another girl...the dark swan princess.

The scene cut to Fakir, curled up on his side in his bed, fast asleep and oblivious to the light footsteps of Mytho as he tiptoed out the door silently. Fakir was allowed a final glimpse of the dark swan princess and Mytho, engaged in a dance that was somehow infused with eloquence and passion.

"Why should I trust you?" Fakir snarled, loath to believe what Drosselmeyer had told him.

"I have your best interest in mind. I couldn't bear to see you so completely blinded to the truth. It was obvious that she truly bewitched you…"

"Why are you showing me this?" Fakir demanded.

"You would not have been able to see it otherwise. You have been blinded to her charms, Fakir. As the creator of your story, I felt obligated to tell you. I hate to put you through such pain, but the consequences would have been far greater than you could possibly imagine."

"Wait! How can she turn into a...another swan maiden?" Fakir asked incredulously, shaking his head. "That girl was obviously not completely human. If wings had unfolded from her back, I wouldn't have been surprised. And how does she make him evil?"

Drosselmeyer nodded. "Good questions, my dear boy. She is the villain of this story; a siren, as it were. I'm sure you're familiar with the sirens of mythology, the entrancing bird-women who would sing enchantingly, luring innocent sailors to destruction. This swan-girl is not much different; however, instead of song she uses the art of dance to call unsuspecting innocents into evil. Your prince... what happens is that he becomes so captivated by her that he unquestioningly follows her will. She suspected that you would be immune to those charms, but a charade of innocence...well, that did the trick."

Fakir's eyes narrowed at the thought. "Does that mean...she is trying to lead Mytho to his destruction?"

"Ah! But it shall come to pass. Her presence has changed him, and he is hurdling down a completely different path! My dear knight, you are too late to save anybody but yourself!" Drosselmeyer said emphatically. "It is too late for Mytho. Had you noticed sooner, had you come to realize what she truly was, you may have been able to yank him out of her grip! But now, you must leave him to her clutches and run from the siren, who threatens to steal your soul even as we speak."

"So she's trying to...steal my soul?" Fakir asked, horrified. He backed away, cheeks burning hotly, as if to hide from the old man. Every irrational paranoia that had ever woken him in the middle of the night had now snowballed into a single horrendous nightmare.

"Let me tell you this, my boy. For the siren, nothing is more important than leading innocent souls into evil. You shall soon see what I mean by that. And those she cannot bend to her ways? She must be more insiduous, more cunning. She employed every manuever to distract you, to keep you from seeing your true purpose, and eventually...she would have asked for your soul. You would not have noticed until it was too late. And, being blind to the danger, thinking yourself a romantic hero, you would have acquiesced all too readily. You would never come between her and her prince again."

Fakir felt sickened. To think that Ahiru had been the dark ballerina princess all along...that she was actually a _siren_... the ground had been shaken beneath his feet. If this was a story grounded in fantasy as the old man had said, it was entirely possible that Ahiru could transform into another creature. It was completely feasible to imagine that she had bewitched both Mytho _and _Fakir, laughing at them both. Fakir's hand clapped over his mouth as he remembered the kiss they had shared in the practice room. How he had given her his complete trust. Confided in her. Called her an ostrich. Protected her from a pack of wolves. Almost dueled Femio. Everything, for a darkly bewitching ballerina..._swan siren._

_I've got to talk to Mytho about this. Maybe he'll tell me what's actually going on_. Fakir told himself, trying to remain logical in the face of catastrophe.

"I watched, growing frightened that you would not be able to regain your wits and understand what was going on in time to save your prince. She was too powerful for you, I'm sorry to say. I should have warned you sooner, but the heartbreak is inevitable now."

"Let me get this straight...Ahiru is actually a...a _swan siren_, who seduced Mytho and tried to, well, succeeded at distracting me from realizing what was going on? And she was planning to corrupt Mytho into evil and steal my soul?"

"Beware. The swan siren is a being of mighty force, one that cannot be underestimated. Only _your_ soul can be rescued from eternal damnation now. Countless others will pay the price. Listen to me, boy, and save yourself from her. Farewell."

The old man turned away and disappeared as he walked into the shadows of the trees.

Fakir found his way from the haunted forest clearing to the lake, looking over the calm waters as his heart ached in humiliation and grief. At some point, time must have started again, but Fakir was in no state to notice.

When the moon had risen directly above the lake and the stars sung in clear harmony, Fakir trudged back to the boys' dormitory.

_Ahiru, the swan siren._

**End of Act III**


	26. Act 4: Fakir's Heart Breaks Once More

_"But am I evil, to do this to the one I love?" Rue_

_"Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win." Stephen King_

**Chapter 27: Fakir's Heart Breaks Once More**

Mytho was sitting on his bed, awake, when Fakir stalked into the room. Fakir barely restrained himself from throwing something against the wall in anger and instead sat calmly on the edge of his bed across from Mytho. There were so many words on the tip of his tongue: _Mytho, what happened to you? Do you know that she's actually Ahiru? Do you know you're in danger? Have you been drawn into evil? What does that even mean? I'm so confused. Say something, anything. Mytho, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. This is the second time I've failed to save you. I'm a failure of a protector. _

Mytho looked as lost in reality as usual. Fakir bit back everything he had been about to say. When Mytho had first appeared two years ago, he had been a completely different person. His eyes had flickered with genuine kindness, and a smile was often to be seen on his face. He had been much more difficult to protect—always running off to save someone or something in distress, even inanimate objects—but Fakir would gladly have done his duty if it had meant that he could be the guardian of _that_ Mytho rather than this lifeless shell of a person.

For that was exactly what he had become. A doll, incapable of true emotion. But why? What had happened? Fakir had always unquestioningly looked after Mytho without so much as a single inquiry into his past.

Curiosity burned inside him now. Maybe understanding Mytho's past could help Fakir figure out what was going on right now. Was there any truth to Drosselmeyer's story, or was Fakir being a gullible idiot for believing him?

He cleared his throat. "I was wondering…before you came here two years ago, where were you? What happened? Why did you come?" Mytho remained as still as a statue.

After a pause, Fakir sighed. "Okay. I understand that you don't want me to be nosy. I was just curious."

Another, more troubling thought came to mind. Now, more than ever, it was important to protect Mytho from the dark swan princess…Fakir meant Ahiru. He couldn't resolve the thought in his head. His head spun, his palms sweaty, his heart raced, and he felt as if he was about to be sick. Fakir knew that he had to talk to Mytho about this. Maybe he could find out if Drosselmeyer had been telling the truth.

"Mytho, you've been acting really weird lately. I'm not talking about your usual saving-birds-from-the-dangers-of-flying kind of weird. This has reached a whole new level of oddness. I've been trying to respect your privacy, but honestly I'm getting really concerned about you."

Mytho met Fakir's anxious, careworn gaze with a cool look. Instead of the usual calm response, Mytho's 's fist swung out of nowhere hard into Fakir's upper arm. Reacting on instinct, Fakir pushed him away. "Mytho, I'm serious. I don't want to spar right now."

"Are you afraid, Fakir?"

"I've just been through a lot lately. I need to sit down and think. I...don't want to fight. Please just listen to me." Fakir said, his voice sounding somewhat tired and broken.

Mytho's light jabs escalated to moderate blows. "Hm. Looks like _someone_'s not up to the challenge."

"I'm not...I can't fight today." Fakir replied, eyes cast at the ground.

A hard punch to the stomach left Fakir feeling winded. "What's the matter, Fakir?" Mytho taunted.

Fakir looked at his once-best friend with pain in his eyes as he tried to parry the oncoming punches defensively. "I just...I have to warn you about something. That one girl you danced with near the lake? That girl is actually trying to corrupt your heart, apparently! I have no idea what that even means...maybe you'll start being a serial killer or something, but anyway...She's a swan siren, and she's using her...erm... amazing dancing skills to lure you to your doom. She almost stole my heart, too... Please, Mytho, you have to listen to me!"

"As usual, you demonstrate complete idiocy." Mytho said coolly, aiming a kick at Fakir, who dodged and retaliated with one of his own.

"What? Mytho, quit! Besides, are you trying to say I shouldn't try to look out for you?" The two were now fighting at full force.

Mytho's eyes flashed from pure amber to intense mauve-violet. Some deeper force seemed to rear within him, and an uncharacteristic smirk crossed his face.

"So misguided, my dear knight." Fakir barely escaped a crushing blow to his chest. "I don't think you understand. Has it ever occured to you that I can do whatever the hell I want?" Fakir froze in his place, forgetting to dodge a smashing punch to his temple. Fakir reeled back, head throbbing. Mytho sneered, catching him with a sharply aimed elbow to the gut.

"You have no right to tell me what to do!" Another punch to the jaw as Fakir doubled over, unable to defend himself.

"What you have just said is one of the most-" a round house kick to the side "-insanely idiotic" a punch to the throat "-things I have ever heard. You are obsessive, overcontrolling, selfish-" A heel to the chin sent Fakir to the floor, and he was caught in shock and disbelief that his best friend was beating him mercilessly with almost superhuman strength "-and everyone who _ever_ loved you was_ wrong_."

"History will judge me harshly for not having killed you." Mytho breathed heavily, stepping back. "I do, however, have one last thing to say. If you try to tell me what to do again, I _will_ kill you." His eyes glittered with malice as he brought his heel down hard on Fakir's chest. Fakir wheezed for breath, throroughly spent, every part of him aching.

"I swear it." Mytho murmured, violet murder in his eyes as he stood over Fakir.

Fakir groaned, rolling onto his side gingerly. What had happened? Fakir knew that he could have easily beaten the smaller, lighter Mytho with little effort. Why did Fakir feel sick, dizzy, and unable to fight...and when had Mytho suddenly become such a formidable fighting force?

"Was that a direct...death threat?" Fakir grunted.

"Hell yes it was. Did you learn your lesson, Fakir, by getting your ass kicked?" Mytho asked.

Fakir shook his head at the fact that Mytho had used a _curse word_, no, curse _words_, for the _first time_ in his _life_. Fakir took a deep breath to answer, but was suddenly stricken by an agonizing pain beneath his heart. Fakir coughed, a hand over his mouth. His fingers were sticky with red blood. "Traitorous bastard." Fakir managed. _I learned you can never be trusted again, Mytho._

Mytho watched impassionately. Fakir gently set a foot on the ground and rose to a kneeling position before gaining his bearings to stand. Each step was excruciating.

"Why don't you look at the mirror?" Mytho called. "You look half dead anyway."

Fakir hobbled over to the bathroom mirror, unwilling to believe that his best friend had deserted him at this hour of heartbreak.

He was shocked by himself. A gaunt and unrecognizable Fakir stared back at him with a hollow, haunted look in his deep green eyes. His dark hair was messy and tangled, bruises forming on his jaw, neck, and arms. His clothes looked disheveled as well. Had so much changed in just a couple of hours? Overcome by hopelessness, Fakir painstakingly walked away as he leaned on the walls for support.

"How am I supposed to dance like this?" Fakir whispered to himself as he collapsed on his bed, not bothering to undress. Had Mytho changed, and Fakir had remained simply unaware for the whole time? Yes, Mytho had become another person. A person who was no longer Fakir's best friend. A person who no longer needed him. Fakir had failed at protecting his prince _twice_, and this was all his fault.

And Ahiru...no. no. no. He wouldn't think about her. Fakir's love for her now felt like a pile of stones on his chest, trapping him so that he couldn't function now. He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Not anymore.

Fakir's mind whirled aimlessly in search of something to think about that wouldn't shoot daggers through him. An idea struck him as he remembered the diary Mytho had given to him two years ago.

"Take this." Mytho had said emotionlessly. "I have no need of it."

Fakir had written a small note at the bottom of the last page and returned it to Mytho, who shrugged and cast it at the back of the bookshelf.

For two years, Fakir had held himself back from looking through what Mytho had written. Even while Mytho remained like an emotionless doll, Fakir resolved that he would not invade Mytho's privacy.

But now the curiosity was just too much. Fakir had to understand who Mytho really was. He had protected him for so long, devotedly, unquestioningly, and now everything he thought he had known about Mytho was simply not true. Didn't he deserve answers by now, especially now that Mytho was actually some kind of murderous monster?

Fakir waited for at least thirty minutes until Mytho gotten ready for bed, turned off the lights, and Fakir had heard the regular breathing of one who was asleep. Now decided, he quietly rummaged through the bookshelf. He remembered exactly where Mytho had put it.

Yet there was nothing there where the little notebook should have been. Fakir checked once. Then twice. Then he checked the entire shelf. Then all the shelves. Then again.

After twenty minutes, it became clear that the notebook was not in the room anymore. Fakir allowed his battered legs to collapse beneath him so that he knelt on the floor, straining his mind for clues. Why wasn't it there? Fakir knew he personally hadn't touched it, and neither had Mytho…

_Ahiru_. He remembered her, dressed in stealthy attire, looking though the contents of the bookshelf. She had seemed so startled then, and at her adorableness he had completely forgotten that he was supposed to be angry. Fakir had even thought that it was the dark swan princess who was there, who wanted to find out more about Mytho. Instead, he had found Ahiru, the swan siren in disguise.

_Trust your instinct_. A voice told him from within.

Yes, he had known that the dark swan princess was the only one who would have an interest in something like that. As he thought about it, Ahiru's presence there made absolutely no sense. Unless she was the dark swan princess, and then all the pieces fell into place…

It all made so much sense. Ahiru had probably read the diary and found out everything she needed to know about Mytho. Mytho had no idea, but he was in love with her alter bird-girl form. The swan siren. Whatever terrible things that would lead to, according to the old man. Fakir still wasn't sure what that even meant.

_Today, I found out my girlfriend cheated on me with my best friend. As a magical ballerina princess. FML._

Being stabbed in the back could not have been much worse than this double betrayal. His one love and his best friend…were lovers, and Fakir simply an outcast. Not only that...they were both evil. He was utterly undeserving of any man card stamps whatsoever.

"Hardly a surprise. What a pity that you are incapable of true understanding." Fakir whirled around to see Mytho, clad in only a long white nightshirt, shoot him a malicious smile.

He came closer until his face was about an inch away from Fakir's. Mytho's smile became evil. "I hope you enjoy thousands of your worst fears all rolled into one horrendous nightmare."

As he looked into Mytho's victorious mauve eyes, Fakir tried not to lose his sanity and collapse in defeat.


	27. Act 4: Drosselmeyer's Bargain

**[A/N] **Those last two chapters did make me feel particularly evil...and now Fakir's the one being an idiot. Can't really blame him, though. Enjoy!

_"Never let a problem to be solved become more important than the person to be loved." Barbara Johnson_

**Chapter 28: Drosselmeyer's Bargain**

**In which Rue changes the course of the story, Mytho's plotting something evil, and Fakir's trying to recover his sanity**

Rue slept fitfully, her fists clenching at the covers over her chest as if to protect herself from an approaching terror. Fragments of what had happened that night echoed through her mind as she tossed from left to right, trying to rid herself of this nightmare.

_I don't understand. Why...does he belong away from me?_

_That is the fate of the story, the old man cackles, regarding her coldly. That is what is written. That is what has been foretold._

_No. This cannot be. I refuse. He is mine. Rue insists fiercely. He is mine._

_The story does not agree with you, dearest. But because you are so strong-willed...I will give you one. last. chance._

_Help me. I'll do anything. _

_Do you wish him to be yours forever?_

_'Wish' is an understatement._

_Do you choose to change the story? I warn you now, this will change the nature of the story to a true tragedy._

_Wasn't it a tragedy all along?_

_Only because I know what you will choose._

_Twisted old man. You're sick, you know that?_

_Let me tell you our bargain. The terms of our deal. This power lays dormant within you, and with my help...there is a price to be paid. You must promise me something, Rue. _

_She listens with growing horror. Yet, when he is done, she nods without the slightest bit of hestiation._

_I promise._

_Rue picks up her writing pen, stares defiantly at him. This is for the better, she says. Her pen sets down on the paper. I'll be short and sweet. No more, no less than what I wish for. I only have these few minutes, don't I?_

_The tip of her pen quivers on the paper. You tell me, she says suddenly. What do I write?_

_You're the writer. Drosselmeyer says, watching her intently. I am the storyteller, the master of you all. You are granted this power for a short time. It could not have succeeded without my blessing. Your sacrifice was lovely, my dear. Another warning: you do not know everything. Your knowledge is riddled with as many gaps as the rest of my characters. _

_You shall write what you must._

_Fear gathers in her heart. But am I evil, to do this to the one I love? _

_He does not answer, for she begins to write._

_I'm sorry. It is the only way, she says in between syllables. She brushes away angry tears that stain the paper. The only way you will always belong to me._

_She has written a poem._

_The scariest thing is, in the fervor of the moment, she hardly knows what she has written-_

_-a lovesong?-_

_-a tragedy?-_

_-a drama?-_

_-only that it has reached to the depths of her heart and drawn out all her deepest, most desperate desires-_

_and she cannot read it now, for the old man smiles and the paper vanishes into thin air._

* * *

Rue watched Mytho's expression carefully the next day. But when they walked past each other, she could discern no difference in how he treated her. He was as cold, as distant as always.

"Did I make the right choice?" She murmured. "Tell me, Drosselmeyer. I couldn't have done it on my own."

Silence answered her, and her maroon eyes narrowed.

"Everybody has come awaiting a surprise, I see." Autor remarked dryly.

_I had completely forgotten_, Fakir thought snidely. _What with the one girl I love trying to seduce my best friend, and as a magical ballerina princess, and the fact that they're both EVIL...It hadn't even crossed my mind, Autor._

"And a surprise you shall get. Today, we are taking a small trip to the theater, where the various departments will have brought their contribution to the performance—in progress of course. You will get to examine the backdrops rendered in painstaking detail, the sculpted on-set pieces such as the cliff Odette hurls herself off of, the fabrics and patterns of the costumes, and even enjoy a live performance by our orchestra. I daresay it will be quite the day off for us."

Ahiru looked at Fakir standing in the back of the group of dancers. She hurried over, eager to talk to him. Ahiru wasn't particularly observant, but the way he avoided her gaze puzzled her. She opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it hesitantly. His expression was unreadable, and were there bruises on his face beneath the dark shadows of his hair? and did he shift his hands in his pockets uncomfortably, as if the action hurt him? and did she see a slight limp in how he walked, carefully putting one foot down after another? or maybe-

"Fakir, are you hur-?"

Quickly, Fakir moved away despite the accompanying surge of pain. He had barely pulled himself together this morning; he'd washed the blood off his face, wrapped bandages around his arms, stretched gingerly to get himself accustomed to movement, worn clothing that covered as much of him as possible, and promised himself that he wouldn't meet anyone's gaze so that no one would be able to discern his despair. Even if he'd been able to, Fakir knew that he could not bring himself to meet Ahiru's mirror-like eyes as he felt her searching gaze take in his battered state.

_Fakir, the sexy badass dancer knight who has a manly man card, is running away. So much for being undefeatable all the time. What's happened to me? I can't even look at her._

Fakir wasn't thinking rationally. If he had been, he would have calmly stated everything that had happened last night and made sure to take into account the possibility that the old man had been lying to him. Ahiru would have been only too happy to refute each of those claims, but Fakir had no way of knowing that. Now, the evidence seemed to be piling against her, so to avoid dealing with the situation, Fakir did the thing he was best at: he shut himself off from the outside world.

Autor continued talking. "So, let's go everyone!"

The entire cast rose with Autor in the lead to embark on the ten-minute walk to the theater. Incessant chattering filled Ahiru's ears. Lillie and Pique were next to her as usual, babbling about something insignificant. For some reason, Ahiru felt profoundly alone.

"I think Fakir's been ignoring me." She murmured, in a moment of weakness, to Pique.

Pique looked concerned. "Well," She began, "I think that—"

"What did you say? Fakir being normal for the first time in about forever? Oh Ahiru, you _are_ adorable. I knew this would happen. Well? Spill the details!" Lillie said.

"Nothing really _happened_." Ahiru whispered fiercely. "That's just what I think."

Lillie pinched her cheeks. Indignantly, Ahiru rubbed her still-smarting cheekbones. "Lillie!"

"Maybe you should talk to him and find out what happened." Pique said reasonably.

"No!" Lillie told them, shaking her head. "That's exactly what she _shouldn't_ do. Let me tell you something; people are _like_ that. And especially Fakir. You have to give him alone time for a while."

"You're right." Ahiru sighed. "It's just that...I think he's hurt."

"Really?" Lillie craned her neck to catch a glimpse of Fakir, who stubbornly moved even farther away.

"Lillie, don't be obnoxious about it." Pique chastised her friend sternly before turning to Ahiru. "Wait...hurt? Why? What happened?"

"I don't know." Ahiru said anxiously. "I'm don't want to pry or anything, but I couldn't help but notice. He's not saying anything, either."

"He probably wouldn't want to talk if his vocal cords were damaged." Lillie said brightly. "Maybe he was attacked by ten swordsmasters!"

"Just be normal, and be there if he wants to talk. It'll be all right." Pique said reassuringly.

"And if you find out what happened you have to tell us! I'm sure it's a beautiful story!" Lillie added with a brilliant smile.

Ahiru smiled at the helpfulness of her friends. "Of course."

She didn't see Rue's smirk or Femio's jovial expression as the silence between Ahiru and Fakir was noticed. Fakir's fangirls, who were planning a devastating attack on Ahiru despite Fakir's concessions, were mollified for the moment. All plans of action were canceled as they waited to see what would happen next.

* * *

Once they arrived at the theater, everyone flew into a delighted flurry of activity. There was so much to be seen and done! Mytho knelt at the Art booth to inspect the fine brushstrokes that represented glimmers of moonlight on the almost-finished backdrop. Rue twirled as she clutched the feathery white costume to her chest. Femio stood atop the sculpted cliff with a bouquet of roses in his hands and threw them to his adoring crowd (including Lillie) while a very angry sculptor tried to pull him away. Fakir studied a slender sword similar to the one on his hip, trying to ignore Ahiru's footsteps as they pattered up to him.

"Hey. Missed you at practice last night." She said perkily, despite her instincts that her cheeriness was misplaced.

He continued to look at the sword, willing her to leave. His entire body was still aching, every step hurt him, and his mind couldn't focus.

"So…" Ahiru continued, trying to keep the non-existent conversation going.

Fakir gave no reply. He didn't want to face this situation right now. He wasn't sure who or what to believe. He needed to take a step back and figure everything out, because his thoughts were much too jumbled to deal with her presence. Yet, his expression remained as mysterious and sharp as it had been before he met Ahiru. Fakir heard Ahiru sigh as she walked away. Later, he would think about what was true and what wasn't. Right now, he just had to get through the day.

It turned out that Lillie had been right, Ahiru thought. Maybe Fakir was in a non-talkative mood. Maybe he didn't want to listen to her right now. Whatever the reason was, she was sure that he would explain it later.

However, being ignored repeatedly by him was starting to sting. Right now, she might as well talk with Mytho. Ahiru turned on her heel to join Mytho at the painted backdrop with pasted cheer still on her face.

Out of the corner of his eye, Fakir noticed Ahiru talking with Mytho at the Art booth. Mytho showed Ahiru something on the surface of the lake; Ahiru laughed and suddenly Mytho had smiled as well.

Anger rose in Fakir for some inexplicable reason. His suspicions had not been misplaced. He swung the sword in his hand with practiced ease, fuming. The pieces of the puzzle were becoming clearer by the second.

Did Mytho know that the swan princess was actually Ahiru? Had he danced with her again, in the dead of the night, at some time when Fakir had been sleeping?

Fakir's attention had drifted away from Mytho; Ahiru had been the one in his thoughts. In any case, Ahiru certainly knew what she was doing. She had practiced ballet with Fakir each evening and then turned into a magical ballerina (if Drosselmeyer was to be trusted) at midnight to come after Mytho... who was now suddenly evil. This was getting more and more messed up by the second. Fakir shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all.

After all the dancers had been called to the center of the theater to listen to the orchestral performance of the Swan Lake finale, everyone had to conclude that the performance was spectacular. Each note resounded perfectly throughout the theater. From the other departments came a standing ovation.

"In return, we shall have a ballet performance." Autor declared grandly. "Why not the grand Pas de Deux from Act 2 with Siegfried and Odette? Mytho, Rue! On the stage!"

Mytho made his way to the steps leading up to the stage with resignation, but Rue called out, "I'm sorry, I'm just not up to it today. My toes are blistered and bruised, and I just want to give it a break for this once."

Autor shook his head. "Hmm…Ahiru!"

Ahiru bit her lip. "I'm not sure I can do it, Autor."

"We'll only have you dance the first five minutes before the rest of the swans come in; it won't be much. Come on; you are Rue's alternate after all."

Ahiru paused for a minute to pull her pointe shoes out of her dancing bag and tie the laces around her ankles. Her hair was already pinned back and suitable for dancing, and luckily she had worn her ballet uniform to rehearsal even though Autor had said it was to be a surprise.

Once she was done, she skittered across the aisles and ascended the stairs to join Mytho, who waited expectantly. The conductor's hands moved, and the music began to play.

Fakir, who was sitting in the very back away from the crowd, gritted his teeth. Why did this have to happen? Femio had been no problem, but why did the one girl he loved have to deceive him and chase after Mytho?

Fakir didn't like the look in Mytho's eyes. Something had changed, but Fakir couldn't quite place what. Something in his demeanor had shifted..._maybe it's the fact that they're both evil_. Fakir said to himself grudgingly.

The lifts, if not spectacular, were sturdy and well-executed; Ahiru wobbled a bit on her turns but still came to a clean finish. They finished to a tumult of applause, which Fakir refused to join in.

Mytho whispered something in Ahiru's ear, and Fakir watched with a darkened expression while Ahiru's cheeks flushed bright pink as she hurried off the stage. Then he had to remind himself, _she's not Ahiru. She's a dangerous swan siren._

"Splendid," Autor said, clearly pleased.

The production director stood, gave a small speech, and they were dismissed to return back to their departments.

* * *

After the 'surprise', Ahiru found herself all alone. Even though Mytho seemed to be treating her nicely as always, Fakir was still giving her the cold shoulder (not to mention that he'd been the first to disappear once the thing was over) and Rue seemed to be too busy to talk. Lillie was tagging along after Femio, and the last thing Ahiru wanted to do was face his over-pompous mannerisms.

Finally, Ahiru found Pique walking a close distance away from Rue and Autor. Falling into step beside Pique, who with a motion at her lips advised her to be quiet, Ahiru found that the conversation was easily audible.

"Well, yes." Autor was saying. "The most important thing to consider is Opening Night. That is when we will be judged on the quality of our work. Our academy is well known for its talented artists, dancers, and musicians; people will come from far and wide to see the performance. But the person who really matters? I'll tell you."

He continued, despite Rue's bored look. "Rue, I'm sure you've heard of her. The prima ballerina Miss Rosette? She is even known _just_ by the first name."

Before Ahiru could listen to the rest of the conversation, she heard the last voice she wanted to hear speaking beside her.

"My dear Ahiru, the lovely mademoiselle. How fares Fakir?" Femio asked, a bright twinkle in his eyes.

Ahiru's lips pressed into an expression of pain.

"It is all right, lovely pigeon. I was simply curious." With a toss of his brown hair, Femio sashayed off dramatically, a crowd of fangirls in his wake.

Ahiru tilted her head, confused. _Did he just call me a pigeon?_

* * *

Fakir, having finally made it back to his dorm room, turned the doorknob behind him in relief. Finally, the torture was over.

"Hello, Fakir." Fakir froze in place at the chillingly cold words, utttered by his former best friend.

"I hope you know you're not welcome here." Mytho said, folding his arms languidly. "The best thing for you to do right now would be leave."

"We're _roommates, _idiot." Fakir said disbelievingly. "This is where I _live_."

"Hm. How unfortunate." Mytho replied. "It looks like you'll have to find someplace new to live during the day."

"Are you trying to kick me out?" Fakir growled, hands balling into fists.

Mytho merely laughed. "Please, Fakir. Don't humiliate yourself. I am not depriving you of a place to sleep. Be grateful for that, at least."

"You're trying to get rid of me. Don't think you're fooling anybody." Fakir said viciously. "What are you planning to do, rob a bank? Kill someone? Good luck, moron."

Mytho raised an eyebrow. "Be careful what you say."

Fakir's fingers lingered at his sword, but he stopped himself. What would he do, anyway? Was he truly capable of attacking Mytho, the one he had spent so long trying to protect?

"What happened to you? You're a monster." Fakir spat, and with that he abruptly turned and slammed the door shut with such ferocity that the entire room seemed to rattle in his wake.

"Farewell." Mytho whispered. "There's no way you could foresee what's coming next."


	28. Act 4: Dancing with the Wrong Girl

"I_ try not to kid myself. You know, I don't mind romancing someone else, but to fool yourself is pretty devastating and dangerous." Bill Veeck_

**Chapter 29: Dancing with the wrong girl**

**[A/N]** Yes, I am sorry to say that is exactly what Fakir does. Forgive him if you can; he's been going through a rough time.

* * *

Fakir's bruises had healed by now, and his limp had disappeared. That, he discovered, had nothing to do with his ability to deal with the situation.

She had tried to talk to him. More than once. He told himself that he wouldn't take the bait.

And he didn't.

* * *

Her stubborness kept her from badgering him constantly. _Fine_. She said to herself. _If he doesn't want to talk, then let him be that way. _

He didn't come to his own practice room anymore. She knew because she danced there regularly, hoping he would stop by and say something to her, anything at all.

Did that mean that this was over, the dancing, the long walks, everything they had shared? Every time Ahiru tried to approach him, Fakir would simply grunt and turn away. Eventually, she had stopped attempting to approach him.

Even she, with her optimistic nature, had difficulty explaining it away. Some part of her still had hope that he would come back and explain it all to her. Yes, there was a lot to be explained, but he was a reasonable person, and she would be willing to hear what he had to say. It would turn out all right in the end.

It was this hope that kept Ahiru from shouting at him, from slapping him across the face, from making a scene in front of everyone for ignoring her for so long. She still felt that she knew him well enough that it couldn't end like _this_.

But that hope was slowly dwindling.

Lillie and Pique were of the opinion that he was actually a secret ninja who feared that their relationship would put her life in peril. Ahiru had laughed at that a little, but quickly sobered when she realized that she would much prefer that explanation to whatever was going on right now.

"But you have to realize this means you will _never_ _ever ever_ _ever_ get back together!" Lillie had squealed. "Don't you understand? He's suddenly started _ignoring you_, and this can only mean one thing, darling! It's over! This is what I think: he's been secretly battling an evil ninja swordsmaster who is trying to take over the world. He knows that any attachment he has to _anyone_ puts them in danger. Meaning, if he so much as looks at you, you'd be killed! Of course he'll remain the way he is, trying to save both the world and his true love at the same time!"

"Lillie, I don't think-" Ahiru had began.

"Ah-but he'll meet another ninja who is incredibly beautiful and just as awesome as he is, and that means they'll team up and eventually fall in _love-_"

"You're not helping." Pique had said crossly.

Ahiru had sighed, imagining a new stamp for Fakir's man card. Stamps, rather. _Save the world while ignoring Ahiru. Check. Find a super-mega-foxy-awesome-hot ninja who has just as many points for her woman-meter as I have stamps on my man card. Check. Team up with said ninja and defeat evil villain. Check. Go Fakir, I'm so awesome. _

Ahiru crossed her arms and walked away without another word, preferring to sulk alone.

Regardless of her initial unhappiness, Ahiru was not one to wallow in self-pity. Fakir would do as he liked, and she would do what she normally did. She kept herself optimistic, and focused on improving her dancing. Each day, she came to Fakir's practice room. Both her jumps and her extensions had become stronger; her pointe-work was becoming daintier by the day. Now that her dancing had improved, it became clearer than ever the extent to which she was endowed with self-expression. Ahiru could radiate everything from joy to sadness with a single move of her hand, or a slight tilt of her head.

When she danced in rehearsal, she had become almost as breathtaking as Rue. It was not elegance that she possessed; it was something else entirely, simple charm that resounded with human emotion. Autor had noticed the articulation of her gestures, and he made a mental note to himself to consider her for a soloist role in another upcoming production.

Even when Ahiru danced, Fakir would look away and give one of his signature death-glares at the wall. It was as if he didn't care about her at all anymore, no matter how hard she tried to get his attention. Perhaps he had decided that she was _so_ talentless that he didn't want to have _anything_ to do with her.

Most likely. Why else would he ignore her? Even though she had improved so much, he probably still thought she was an talentless idiot. He had told her as much about a million times.

She could change that, Ahiru said to herself. Once, she had imagined herself walking up to Fakir with petite steps in the form of Odette. Fakir, somehow understanding it was her, would smile and say, "Is that you, Ahiru?"

She would nod proudly, and he would grin again. Finally, she would be perfectly suited to dance with him. All would be well.

However, nothing could be further from the truth.

* * *

"I'm not going to suffer this anymore! I will find him!" The words came out of her mouth as she was dancing before long shadows of sunset in the classroom she used to share with her mentor.

Ahiru knew exactly what she would do. She would use all her might to turn into the swan ballerina and impress him. She would show him that she wasn't just a clumsy little girl who couldn't dance. He had to be amazed, surely, with the delicacy of her alternate form. Wouldn't anyone be? She knew it was a long shot, but she couldn't mope around and be all depressed (even though this was exactly what she hadn't been doing). It was time for action!

She sprinted away. With a few quick questions to students who happened to be nearby, she learned that Fakir had acquired a habit of going along a path to the lake and was most likely to be there. Smiling her thanks, she rushed towards the forest.

Her cheerful mood was slightly dampened by the ominous whispers from the trees all around her. They spoke in a language she could not understand as she rushed past them, their branches waving like specters in the wind as if to warn her of making a fatal mistake.

The darkness closed in upon her as a light mist settled on the ground. Ahiru shivered. Taking time to distance herself from anyone who might see, she concentrated as hard as she could. Within five minutes, a genuinely delighted expression had manifested on her face for the first time in a while.

She was the swan princess! Odette, the gorgeous swan queen! White feathers swirled around her. She had forgotten how lovely the white swan princess was. She tried a turn and was elated to see that even on grass, Odette could whirl around in a quintuple turn with the greatest of ease.

There was no stopping her now! Why hadn't she tried this sooner?

"How lovely!" Drosselmeyer said to her. "You're _happy_ now!" He leaned back in his chair and laughed hysterically. Once he had wiped the tears from his eyes, he continued. "Enjoy the last bit of joy you'll _ever_ get until the story ends. And when it ends...oh, wait! You'll be dead!"

* * *

That girl was so damn distracting. Everything about her made his heart race, his blood pound in his ears. That long crimson braid which could double as a leash, that little smile she gave when she thought no one was looking, that obnoxious chatter, that exquisite curve of her neck, the poorly muffled giggles…_everything_, in short.

Yet Fakir never let his face betray a hint of what he was feeling, for he was sure that if he caught her gaze then she would see that he still loved her, and triumph over his incurable weakness. No. He was going to be strong. And that meant being logical, and not thinking about _her_ anymore. She was trying to make him stop thinking about what he had to do (protect Mytho? laughable. protect himself? that was more like it.), knowing that he couldn't resist her innocent façade and those pleading cerulean eyes. No, no, no, no. He wouldn't fall for it again.

All the girls pursued him once more, somehow having gotten it into their dimwitted heads that he could be interested in one of them. He rebuffed them with the necessary detachment, unabashed at his ice-cold behavior. This seemed to simply make the girl in question think he _liked _her _even more_.

Idiots.

But Ahiru was no idiot. She wasn't half as stupid as he had made her out to be. She was conniving and quick-witted, able to hide herself behind a mask she switched as easily as night fades to day.

He felt unsure of himself again, and lost himself in thought. Fakir spent long evenings at the lake until midnight looking over those dark waters. He told himself that he was going to figure everything out. He thought about what was most likely the truth. But there were too many overwhelming reasons in favor of the explanation he liked least.

Firstly, if anyone knew the truth it was the story-creator. He seemed to be genuinely concerned for Fakir. Why else would he come down and attempt to warn Fakir about Ahiru?

Secondly, Mytho had been changing. If Fakir hadn't noticed how Mytho had changed, it was highly likely he had been blind to Ahiru's true nature as well. Fakir hadn't seen how Mytho's character had come alive in ways he never had thought possible. Fakir didn't know what was going on behind those mauve eyes, but he didn't like their expression one bit.

Thirdly, who else could the dark swan princess be? Given the fact that this was a story based in fantasy, Ahiru could have the ability to change into another girl. It seemed more likely that someone who didn't already have a hold on Mytho's heart would be the one who tried to come after him. Anyway, the dark swan princess looked too much like Rue to actually _be_ her. If she had been Rue herself, Fakir felt that the girl's identity would have been much too obvious. No, it was much more likely that Ahiru would _want_ him to think it was Rue.

Fourthly, that piece of damning evidence. Ahiru had been searching through their bookshelves. What kind of honest person did things like that? Like a fool, Fakir hadn't even questioned her. Yes, only someone with ulterior motives would actually take the trouble to look through Mytho's papers. Someone like the dark swan princess.

Fifthly, then there was the fact that the raven hadn't attacked Ahiru, but nestled comfortably in her arms. She had even named it _Fluffy._ Only natural if she was princess of the ravens.

That meant Mytho had no need of him. Ahiru had betrayed him. His world had been torn into pieces. Here he was, the useless knight, his princess and prince no longer belonging at his side.

* * *

At his level, ballet was primarily a self study. Besides classes and rehearsal each day, Fakir (as well as Mytho and Rue) were expected to spend all of their extra time dancing. They each had their own practice rooms, although Fakir's practice room was now the place where Ahiru danced.

Here, it was impossible to take even a day off of ballet and still expect to maintain that skill. So Fakir couldn't entirely neglect ballet, even when he sat on his rock in the forest. He would sometimes dance alone then, taking care to stay on the gravel path or on the non-muddy grass. Later, he would remember these times, a world apart, seeming to belong to a fairy-tale, when he danced in what should have been freezing cold weather and the chill had yet to penetrate to his skin, the mud being magically repelled from his dancing shoes. If only he had suspected the blurring between dreams and reality then!

Perhaps he could have turned to see the mastermind behind it all, and seen this scheme for what it truly was. However, in the absence of that dreamlike quality, sitting alone and writing was exactly as it should have been. Fakir found that there was no better way to spend his time.

If it had been anyone besides Fakir who so regularly neglected practicing by himself (he took care never to miss rehearsal or class), some well-meaning teachers might have spoken to him or a classmate might have expressed concern.

Not so with Fakir. His mysterious aura kept onlookers from intruding into his personal business. Sometimes there were perks to having that magical circle of 'DON'T TOUCH ME OR I'LL KILL YOU' radiating five meters in every which direction.

* * *

He couldn't bear to think of her. And somehow, he found solace in the beauty of the place. His soul was oddly soothed by the tranquility of it all. Sometimes he wrote small stanzas describing many things: loneliness, nature, fairy-tales, ballet, and whatever else he could think of. Whenever he didn't have classes, he walked along the forest path and allowed himself to rest against the sturdy bark of a tree.

So he wrote poems. He focused on nothing in particular, but expanded his list of topics. He wrote of the most mundane things (the smell of freshly baked bread in the morning, dandelions in the breeze, the speckled stones along the river) to the most fantastical (of dragons and fairies, of valiant knights and princes, of princesses and witches).

"How aggravating." Drosslmeyer said, stroking his chin. "He actually _has_ the power, and he doesn't need my help to use it! I'll have to find some other way to manipulate him."

It was hard to say what he was thinking anymore; Fakir didn't quite know himself. The only thing he knew—and which troubled him especially—was that he thought he saw (more than once, too) glimpses of the ethereal girl he had seen once dancing atop the girls' dormitory: flutters of diaphanous fabric from between the trees, or the light sussurus of a tulle skirt, or perhaps, pointe shoes pattering behind him, or a white flurry of feathers from across the waters.

The problem with this was that he had only seen her _once_. Probably a _hallucination_, too. It oughtn't to matter at all. And yet, she danced at the corners of his vision even when he stubbornly refused to allow her space in his thoughts, leaping and landing expectantly, waiting for his futile attempt to catch her in his gaze.

Just as he prepared to turn his head quickly and look to settle the matter for once and for all she would dart away like the shadow of an angel. Somehow he knew she was smiling.

_Stupid Fakir_, he told himself. _Going the same way as Mytho and falling for girls that don't exist. Right up there with trying to rescue birds from the dangers of flying._

And then he became angry with himself. _Whoever said I was falling for her? Idiot Fakir._ He was even worse than Mytho, he knew. Mytho, at least, had seen the girl in person even if she wasn't real—couldn't possibly be real...Fakir cut himself off right there, aware of the growing ridiculosity of his thoughts.

Drosselmeyer. Was there a possibility Drosselmeyer was behind this? Maybe Drosselmeyer was manipulating him in some way…

And that was when he saw the girl, her back to him, arms raised, across the lake.

Fakir rose immediately. What was she doing here? She existed? She wasn't a figment of his imagination…maybe she was real? ...or maybe he was simply hallucinating. Either way, he had to see her face. Yet, it was a long way to the opposite side of the lake. Maybe he would scare her off as had so often happened before.

_In your dreams, moron_. He grimaced at the literalness of it. _No pun intended._

Her arms moved seamlessly, like a bird about to take flight. His life was officially turning into a fairy tale. _That's it_, he decided_, I'm running as fast as I can for the opposite side of the lake. I've got to know who this is._ His blood pounding in his ears, he arrived next to her. She spun coyly, her face turned away.

Taking hold of her waist, he twirled her around so that they were face to face. The first thing that struck him about her was the sheer joy in her smile. She was not only wearing a euphoric expression, but her features were perfectly fashioned, just like a doll's. Her red hair set off the sparkling crown and swan feathers atop her head. "Fakir!" Her voice reminded him of tinkling bells.

He knew he had to look suspicious. After all, people don't randomly run up to other people and whirl them around dramatically. Why, then, was she so utterly delighted?

"I knew you'd remember me." She told him lightly, her cherubic mouth curving upwards in a genuine grin. Why did she remind him of someone he already knew, even though he'd never seen her face before? What did she know about him? He was eerily reminded of Drosselmeyer and his creepy antics.

Fakir pushed ideas of Drosselmeyer away. He had no one else to remain loyal to. Mytho was no longer his prince, Ahiru no longer belonging to him.

He had the feeling that this girl belonged to another story than the one he had come from. The thought of being part of something new was enticing to Fakir; the old story had torn him apart mercilessly. While this hallucination lasted, he might as well play along with what his subconscious had created.

* * *

As he watched the swan-like creature and the dark-haired young man dance together, Drosselmeyer cackled happily.

"Each to his or her own misconception, shall we say? Is it agreed?" His plan was going perfectly. The middle of the story had, indeed, passed without too much trouble… "It shall be spectacular." He mused thoughtfully.

"True love and lies, dramatic breakdowns and bloodthirsty revenge, sacrifice and betrayal, hope and heartbreak. Oh yes, Drosselmeyer has it all. Mine shall be the epitome of all tragedies."

"Let's see...so far we've got true love, betrayal, heartbreak, and..._cowardice_? My dear knight, are you _afraid_? No matter. Soon, the tale shall be moving much more quickly!"

"Oh, wait! I forgot the death! No, I mean deaths. Did I just _spoil_ something? How dramatic!"

For now, he was content to watch the two figures beside the lake. The heroine couldn't possibly know that she had misjudged not only the knight but the entire situation. The knight dancing with her…well, his misconception of her stemmed from his mistaking her identity. The prince... he was lost to the darkness. Of course, it would be much too late when he found out the truth in the land of ice and snow. The black swan would suffer, as usual. Her sacrifice was something quite spectacular, although it wouldn't help her in the end.

In fact, they would all suffer, as usual.

Drosselmeyer couldn't help but shake his head at his own evilness. "I mustn't get too proud." He reminded himself. "Many an author has let his hand grow lazy...and then the characters run away with the story! That won't do. That won't do at all. And it shall not happen!"

For he had been careful to maintain control over the most important thing of all. "Hope." He said aloud to himself, savoring the word. "A little hope is effective. A lot of hope is dangerous. It must be controlled."

And control it he would. When a character believed that there was possibility for a happy ending…well, that was Drosselmeyer made sure to nip it in the bud. When there was widespread belief of general doom, that was when the real hilarity started.

He looked down on the dancing couple, the prince lost in daydreams, and the swan queen. "You want to know my advice? Are you ready?" He leaned forward, rubbing his hands together.

"Very well. I shall tell you. Embrace the probability of your imminent death...and know in your heart there's nothing I can or will do to save you." The gears around him vibrated with the sound of his laughter.


	29. Act 4: Go Play in Traffic, Idiot

**[A/N] **yes, I just quoted both the Hunger Games and A Very Potter Musical in the last chapter. super-mega-foxy-awesome-hot, anyone?

_"If I love you, what business is it of yours?" Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_

**C****hapter 30: Go Play in Traffic, Idiot**

"And he loves me!" Lillie screeched.

"And why is this important?" Pique asked wearily.

"Because I'm the only girl who he gave an entire bouquet of roses to! So handsome!" Lillie swooned.

Ahiru nodded along with Pique, but inside she felt lightheaded. She couldn't breathe. Fakir approved of her. No words had been said, but she had been certain he recognized her. Why else would there have been that flash of recognition in his sharp green eyes?

Maybe he hadn't teamed up with a female ninja to save the world. Maybe there was a bit of Fakir left in him, and his man card wasn't filled with stamps such as ___Don't Talk For an Entire Day_ and_ Ignore Ahiru for Two Weeks__,_ and it was all a horrible misunderstanding, and they'd be together again, and...

But right now she had to listen to Lillie and her melodrama.

"So you have to cheer me on! Ahiru, poor little thing. It looks like your heart's not in it. What's wrong? Are you still tragically heartbroken over Fakir? It looks like you've got your lucky break, because you can live vicariously through…ME!"

Ahiru bit her lip to keep from laughing. Lillie had always been the one of her friends who understood her the least, now more than ever.

"Let's go!" Pique said decisively. "We've got rehearsal in fifteen minutes."

"I'll get to see my darling Femio!" Lillie sighed. "How romantic!"

Ahiru couldn't think of anything more romantic than how she had danced with Fakir. The entire world had seemed to stand still just for them. He would have to respect her from now on because she was worthy of him. No more was she an idiotic, clumsy, good-for-nothing, distracting moron!

She was Odette, the graceful swan queen, adored by Fakir.

For that, Ahiru would have given up everything in the world.

* * *

Fakir was beginning to fear he'd lost his marbles. Not only was his life reminiscent of a fairy tale, but he didn't know what he could truly say was real anymore.

_Idiot. You can't differentiate between reality and dreams_. _Take yourself to the psychiatrist and get tested for some mental disease._

Yet, Fakir knew he would never do so. In the past few months, he had seen his share of strange things; and despite the initial resistance some part of him enjoyed the blurring between dreams and reality. For, really, what else could it have been? The pas de deux? The mysterious old man who claimed to know his fate? The dark swan princess who called for Mytho?

_It was a hallucination, _he told himself firmly_. She's nothing but the construct of your imagination. You are delusional._

After a while, he almost believed himself.

_That's it. I'm crazy. __But so is everyone else. __Or is that just what I think?_

By the time he arrived at rehearsal, Fakir had made himself thoroughly mad at his own thoughts.

The light tap of footsteps that accompanied his arrival did nothing to lighten his mood. Ahiru smiled up at him as always, her hair a muted red against her white leotard. She still seemed so innocent. "Hi Fakir!"

It hurt just to look at her. A flood of emotions rushed through him. He hated her for making him believe she had loved him and he hated himself for believing her. And he hated himself for still loving her. He couldn't say anything, so he turned away. One more second of her smiles and he would break down. Why did she have that damned smile on her face?

This time, Ahiru was determined to be more persistent and get an answer out of him.

"You found out, huh, Fakir?"

"Found out what?" He asked slowly, trying to persuade himself it wasn't true.

"I'm a magical ballerina swan princess!" She returned happily, and her eyes shone like blue mirrors.

In any other universe, that statement was worthy of hysterical laughter for at least five minutes straight.

It made Fakir want to break down and cry.

This was too much. She had confirmed what he had been desperately trying to persuade to himself wasn't true. She _knew_ that he knew. Somehow, it made her happy. Was she trying to rub it in? Did she know how much this hurt him?

When what Ahiru had said was a confirmation of all his very worst fears, it didn't even occur to Fakir that she had meant something else. He had been so taken with the idea of the white swan beauty being from another story that the thought of _her _being _Ahiru_ was simply inconceivable to him.

His scowl deepened and his muscles quivered with anger.

"DAMNIT AHIRU!"

She had withdrawn in shock, mouth open. Her eyes shone with feigned innocence. With horror, he realized that his throat had choked up, his face burning in a hot fever.

"Fakir, I thought—"

"NOTHING! I NEVER WANT TO SPEAK TO YOU AGAIN!"

How could she be so good an actress? Her crumpled expression seemed nothing but heartfelt. Did she truly expect him to play along?

She stood there, shocked and pale, before unexpectedly tackling him, the very picture of fury. Despite her petite frame, she succeeded in cleanly knocking him off his feet onto the grass nearby. His breath whooshed out of his chest as her face came nose-to-nose with his.

"What? You idiot!" Ahiru said, her high pitched voice straining in never-before seen anger.

"Get off me!"

"YOU COMPLETE RETARD!"

"I actually trusted you-" Fakir said, voice rising.

"You can't just IGNORE me for weeks and then-"

"-WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?-"

"-just expect that you can treat me like-"

"-you can't just _do _something like this!-"

"- like I don't matter-"

"HOW COULD YOU?"

"at all, AND HOW _DARE_ YOU-" Ahiru shouted.

"I HATE YOU! YOU ANNOYING, DISTRACTING LITTLE IDIOT!"

"YOU'RE THE MOST OBNOXIOUS, SELF-CENTERED MORON THAT EVER EXISTED!"

Fakir became aware that he was still lying flat on his back and stood up with contempt. She brushed herself off and stood as well, glaring at him with concentrated anger.

With a single swift movement, he pinned her to the wall of the studio. Ahiru's back hit the concrete, her wrists immovable against the force of his grip, and she suddenly felt very vulnerable.

Determined not to struggle, she stuck her chin up at his furious expression. "I should have known not to trust someone like you. You stupid, stupid moron! How can you treat me like this?"

"I think you know why!" Fakir snarled back, his face darkened.

Recognizing the fact that he was shouting, Fakir lowered his voice to a deadly tone at which each word dripped with venom. "You _know_ what's wrong. Quit playing innocent. Don't bother me again. If you do, I won't hesitate to rid the world of your pitiful, manipulative existence. I encourage you to play in traffic. Go to hell."

Disdainfully, he released her arms from the wall. Ahiru rubbed her wrists, her chin quivering. The full reality of what had happened struck her in its entirety. As she thought about it, more and more, her eyes watered as her left hand came across her mouth to stifle her sobs.

But she refused to cry. Ahiru remained in place defiantly and made sure he understood, from her insolent looks, that _he_ was the one who should play in traffic. Behind him, a group of fangirls—which Fakir by no means approved of—cheered and called out "Yay for Fakir! He's number one! Dump the talentless and stupid morons!"

"Since when did they make up a _cheer_?" Ahiru muttered.

He was Fakir and he did not approve of this message.

Fakir wanted to gather Ahiru in his arms, smooth away her tears, and beg for her forgiveness. He had never felt such intense self-hate as he did now, inflicting pain on her. Fakir swallowed. For some reason, the words were on the tip of his tongue. He tried to control the urge to run back and fall to pieces at her feet. _I love you. Forgive me._

_She doesn't love you. She never did. It's all an act. _He stiffled the wetness in his eyes with a lethal glare. No weakness would be allowed. It was time to regain his reputation as a sexy badass dancer knight.

Little did he know that this incident would work against his reputation in the eyes of the school.

He stalked into the building for rehearsal, leaving Ahiru, still shocked, angry, and disconsolate, behind him.

What had possessed Fakir to treat her so? Even as she thought about it, Ahiru had to hold her breath to keep from letting the tears fall. She had thought he would be impressed. Instead, he told her to play in traffic. Ouch.

To _play_ in _traffic_.

"YES!" Drosselmeyer cheered. "Her joy is slowly dying like an innocent duck that has been mistaken for a goose and shot from the sky!"

Who could say such things? What had really happened between them as they had danced together beside the lake? She remembered that he had seemed so calm, his expression softened. She had been radiant with joy that he finally understood that she wasn't a talentless moron.

Maybe he didn't. Maybe he never had.

He had believed her to be someone else. Of course. How could she have been so stupid? She had thought he would somehow see past Odette... Yet, she had _told_ him it was her. Didn't he hear that? Then again, maybe Fakir had thought Odette to be someone else, another person than Ahiru. Odette was a graceful swan princess, and the only similarities she shared with Ahiru were wide blue eyes and bright red hair. It was clear now; Fakir had seen Ahiru as another girl entirely. But why, then, was he so angry? Why had he erupted precisely when she told him she was a magical ballerina princess? Did he not believe her? Why had he reduced her to tears in front of the rehearsal studio?

Another crowd had gathered, however, and was murmuring quietly.

"There's Fakir—I thought they were still together—but maybe…"

"Why is he treating her like that?"

"Isn't that girl Ahiru?

"Ooh, looks like an argument, maybe things didn't work out so well…"

"But she's so sad, and she's…is she crying?"

"He's such a jerk to make her cry like that."

"OMG guys, I actually saw everything. So Ahiru was just being nice to Fakir, talking cheerfully to him, and out of nowhere he starts shouting in her face. She looks scared, confused, and on the verge of tears, and she runs at him and knocks him over—"

"I saw it too. And then they both start screaming, and"

"I have to say I don't blame her one bit because he was being cruel and mean—and then he pushes her against the wall, and insults her again—"

"I thought I saw some sexual tension in there, guys."

"Shut up! No one wants to hear your opinion!"

"—and then finally he says that she should play in traffic and then go to hell. He strides away and she's left there, and—"

"Like something from a soap opera."

"Let me finish. She _clearly_ has no clue of what's going on, and that's all of what happened."

"Ugh. He's so rude, and I feel really bad for her!"

"Yeah. Poor Ahiru. Fakir was always so mysterious and badass, but now I think he's just bipolar."

"No, he's definitely got schizophrenia. He probably thought she was a government agent out to get him and attacked her."

"You guys are missing the point! He's got multiple personality disorder, one where he's all courteous and the other where he's a selfish meanie!"

"I think he's despicable. What he did to that poor girl was just cruel. Look at how heartless he is!"

"Mm. What a delightful opportunity. I believe I might begin with _her_."

"Heartless, I tell you!"

"So immature."

"She should have chosen me, that unfortunate _mademoiselle_. Being the gentleman that I am, I would have treated her like the most precious gem in the world. I suppose this is what happens."

"You're right. He's an abusive jerk."

"Is that our Ahiru? Mm, I knew it would end like this! So deliciously, deliciously tragic. She's so, so adorable when she looks all heartbroken! Wait, I'll get some popcorn!"

"No. I think the show's over, and we need to go comfort Ahiru. I didn't see what happened, but it looks pretty bad."

"So vicious! I can't believe…"

The voices trailed off into each other, as the world spun around Ahiru, less and less forgiving by the second.

Ahiru felt lost, small, and confused. She had no idea why any of this had happened. Her attempts at communication had been ignored until the situation had finally exploded.

And nothing he said made any sense, either.


	30. Act 4: Return of the Dark Swan Princess

**[a/n] **So Fakir was kind of a jerk. And that's putting it mildly. His sanity isn't going to get much better in this chapter. In defense of Fakir:

Yes, Fakir is not being entirely rational.  
Yes, Fakir feels lost, disconsolate, and betrayed, both by Mytho and by Ahiru.  
No, he is not handling this situation in the best way possible for several reasons.  
In his mind, he links the shift in Mytho's behavior to Ahiru, although the two are completely unrelated. The knowledge that all is not as it appears to be with Mytho makes it easier for Fakir to re-examine his conclusions about Ahiru.  
Fakir is a naturally suspicious person, so he has doubts even when not entirely reasonable. Sometimes his misgivings turn out to be justifiable, sometimes not.  
The knowledge that he is in a story has shaken his convictions to the point where he is not quite sure who or what to trust anymore. Drosselmeyer, knowing his character, has planned this out.

So. I promise to my readers who point out that Fakir is being a total asshole that he _will_ be redeemed, if only later. If you're fine with Fakir being a jerk, then disregard all this and go reread last chapter.

_"Night is purer than day; it is better for thinking and loving and dreaming. At night everything is more intense, more true. The echo of words that have been spoken during the day takes on a new and deeper meaning." Elie Wiesel_

**Chapter 31: Return of the Dark Swan Princess**

Rue leaned against the barre, shuddering. She felt dizzy, sick, and nauseated at herself. Mytho still wouldn't so much as look at her, despite what Drosselmeyer had promised.

_Remember, Rue_. She told herself. _The end is what counts. As long as we're together in the end._

And she hadn't been able figure out what all the drama between Fakir and Ahiru was about, although she tried to supress the surge of happiness when she had found out that apparently, they couldn't _stand_ each other anymore.

Rehearsal had ended, and some things never changed. Autor still insisted on being the arrogant nosy twerp he was. "Can we talk?" He asked.

"No."

"Look, I know it's tough to be a dancer. But you have to accept, sometimes, you've got to be realistic."

"Really?" Her voice was cold, and yet, he continued.

Wrongly mistaking her silence for agreement, Autor told her, "Be strong. But strength doesn't mean you bow from within. It means you accept your limits and live by them. Anyway, listen. Rue, I've also been meaning to talk to you about your pirouettes in Odette's variation."

"Rue?" Autor asked, studying her intently. "You don't seem to listen to me when I… and you're not listening to me now. Why don't you tell me what you're thinking."

Rue took a deep breath. He really wanted her to tell him what she was thinking?

"I was thinking that you're a pretentious, know-it-all who thinks he's gifted but really has been endowed with the deductive skills of a cactus."

_Apply cold water to burned area_. Rue thought smugly.

For a moment Autor simply stared. But his mouth had pressed into a hard, thin line.

"Is that really how you feel?" She dared him to make her answer that hideously stupid question.

"I see."

The atmosphere had become almost like the one surrounding a dormant volcano before eruption.

"So, Rue, what do you think about yourself?" His dangerously quiet disdain was embedded in each syllable.

"I think that I am a very annoyed dancer who is sick and tired of it all."

"Hm." Autor said quietly. "Would you like to know the truth, Rue? About what I think?"

"I think…that you are a melodramatic, egocentric narcissist who labors under delusions of grandeur. You are petty, vain, and selfish, incapable of true emotion or feeling. Perhaps that's why you're always chasing after Mytho; you see yourself in him. I'll admit that I was mistaken—previously I had believed that there might be a shred of goodness in you in spite of your detached, manipulative coldness. But really? I was deluding myself, and so are you."

"You are the one who cannot see what is real." Rue hissed, desperately trying to shield her wounded pride.

"Really?"

"Oh, yes."

"Well, to finish unfinished business, I will make this brief. Forgive me if this is brusque. For the next week, since you are _sick and tired of it all_, I will have Ahiru dance as the Swan Queen. This is a _temporary _period; I believe she has not had enough practice in the main role. You are still required to come to rehearsal."

"Ahiru is becoming quite good, you know. I knew I saw talent in her, just like there is in you; but she dances with raw emotion, and that lends her enough grace to compete with the most accomplished of the dancers. Now that is a talent to be envied."

He paused, feeling that perhaps he had gone too far. But, like Rue, Autor was by nature slow to anger and slow to forgive.

"Good evening, Miss Defarge."

Rue was left in a murderously calm rage as he stalked away, never looking back.

* * *

Something in her had kindled at his words. _Delusions of grandeur…petty, vain, and selfish…_who did he think he was? That arrogant idiot!

She would show him she wasn't an emotionless doll. To think he tried to take her title away from her? She was the rightful Swan Queen! That bumbling little girl couldn't even take two steps without tripping, much less take her place! Well, she would have her revenge. Someday. _A talent to be envied… _Rue was the one with talent to be envied.

A fury overtook her as she became determined to do _something_, to show to his face that he was an idiot.

What was this?

Those black satin pointe shoes, this plunging neckline? Thick feathers in her hair, a stiff, dark tutu at her hips with the feel of raven wings? Like she was moving through a dream, her bones endowed with the lightness of a hummingbird's?

Quickly, she hid her bag towards the side of the dance studio behind a cardboard crate. She was coming back for rehearsal first thing tomorrow anyway, so she didn't need her dance bag this night.

A chance transformation like this? There was no question. This was fate.

She leapt into grande jete, both legs fully extended as she marveled at how long it took her to land once she had jumped. Overcome with ecstasy, she now propelled herself upwards in a graceful saut de chat, careful to extend her front leg through develope this time before reaching the fully extended position.

This, she knew, was every ballet dancer's dream… to be suspended in the air long enough to see her leg unfold in a matter of seconds rather than milliseconds, to see herself in the mirror floating above the ground like a dandelion, to land like an angel from heaven rather than feel that jarring impact on the boxes of her pointe shoes.

It didn't take her long to do every jump she had ever learned, big, small, or otherwise, just to see herself weightless as she jumped off the ground. Sissonnes, glissades, jetes, pas de chats, everything. It was exhilarating to be so free, to jump so perfectly, and to have such impeccable turnout without struggling to maintain it all.

…_Egocentric narcissist._

She swore under her breath at the sound of his voice in her head. But it was enough to jar her back to reality and remind her of her true calling.

_My words have power after all._

Now, she had to find Mytho. Svanna was coming to meet her faithful prince, once again.

"Thank you, Drosselmeyer!" Rue whispered to the empty night. Somewhere, she knew that Drosselmeyer was listening.

Why had this happened? Misgivings lay like stones in Rue's soul. There was a reason why Drosselmeyer had taken this power away from her. Was it so that she did not underestimate the significance of it? So she didn't take it for granted?

Or was it because the prince needed her?

It didn't matter. Rue would find Mytho again. He would be hers once more.

* * *

"My prince."

"My princess."

"We meet again, I see?"

"The strangest feelings come upon me again and again; I feel as if I walk in dreams in broad daylight. I knew you would come for me."

"My prince…truly, nothing could be more magical."

"Not more than this…the serene waters, the softly twinkling stars, the silent forest around us…this beauty is too much to bear…although it cannot surpass the beauty you possess."

"Is this what my prince thinks?"

"Of course, dark princess. You are more enchanting than a thousand starry skies and a thousand splendid suns combined."

"I am greatly flattered."

"Do not be—my words merely do you justice."

"Justice is a relative term, my prince."

"Justice is, of course, relative…but relativity is not what we seek. We must seek absolutes to make our world more understandable. We cannot live knowing that this is relative and that is relative. We must make it easier upon ourselves and place stark categories—even when they do not fit—upon that which we know."

"Waxing philosophical, I see?"

"Only to watch your expression as I speak. The look on your face as you listen enraptures me."

"Likewise."

"I have discovered how free I am…my protector did nothing but hinder me… and I hadn't known it for all this time. He meant well, I suppose."

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions."

"How right you are, my princess."

"Thank you, my prince."

"The truth is, I am my own person. I am free to do as I wish now. This is a freedom I hadn't known before…how sweet, to be able to spend time with you as I please. The weight dragging upon me has been lifted; I hadn't known the urgency of my release until I met you."

His eyes flashed an unsettlingly deep violet. She couldn't know that her own eyes were the color of blood spilled onto the snow.

"My heart trembles with new hope, new stirrings. Indeed, I sense the souls around me…ripe for the plucking, as it may seem…blood rushing through their veins with power to be given away…how innocent they are! I was once like so… You are a blessing, my princess."

"Am I?"

"Do not mock me! You know the depth of my feeling. I adore you and everything about you. Your sheer grace is made all the more gorgeous as I reflect upon how you have been my savior. I see the world around me, the helpless people surrounding my person, with new eyes! You lifted me from what I thought was protection, what you knew was a torrent of chains!"

"You must not have realized the dreadfulness of it."

"indeed I did not. I had grown so accustomed to that pitiable state...and then you came before me. I cannot express how deeply my gratitude comes from within my heart."

"I must tell you, I have become an expert on hearts. I am acutely aware of the hearts beating around me, of their closeness to me, of how intricately they are linked to the life-force. Does this unsettle you at all?"

...

"No, my prince. Not…not at all."

"I am glad to hear it. I have found my nearest confidante. I have come to meet you again, revelling in your splendor more and more with each passing hour that the moon slides by. My 'knight' does not notice or care...he is my knight no longer, and besides too busy with his own troubles."

"Troubles involving a red-headed girl?"

"Yes. She seems to cause him great suffering, although he pretends otherwise. You must be clairvoyant, dark princess. Such intuition is admirable."

"It only expresses how deeply my thoughts are connected to yours. Your every emotion is mine, my prince."

"There is no one whom I'd rather be more intimately linked to. Your every whim is my command so I may make you happy; and this shall be not for your sake, but for mine as well. I can never be truly happy without knowing that you are."

"Is it so?"

"Again you take me lightly! Taking our emotional connection into consideration, it must be known that you understand what I feel. My princess, everything I do is for you. My heart is before you as the hearts of others are before mine, and you seem not to acknowledge it! You, of all those who know me, know me best."

"Has there ever been another?"

"I once thought my protector knew me well, but I was sadly mistaken. It warrants not your attention. Once I knew a girl, but her beauty pales in comparison to yours. You are majestic and perfect in every way; I cannot help but be entranced by you. She does not even merit a second glance next to you."

...

"You seem uncomfortable. Let us turn conversation to another topic. Have you ever noticed how each human heart…has a beauty of its own? There is something darkly bewitching about it, the center of all emotion, in fact, the very _life force_ centered deep within the chest."

...

"You seem unsure what to think."

... "Um."

"Have I misspoken?"

"Um...You have not."

"Are you certain?"

"Your words flow like melodious rain."

"You wrongly laud my speaking! It is you who deserves the praise. I should never grow tired of extolling your every virtue."

"And grow tired you should not. The sunrise seems to hasten upon us. Sweet dreams, my prince."

"When I dream, I dream only of you. I take my leave."

"The pleasure is mine."

"No, my princess, the pleasure is mine. Farewell—I shall see you again tomorrow night."

"My prince."

As he watched the dark princess take her leave of the prince, Fakir stood behind the shadowy tree and jerked his dark cape around him with a desperate motion as if attempting to shield himself. He'd already known this, and hadn't she confessed as much? Why had he come here, even it hardly involved him anymore?

No. It was futile to pretend he didn't care.

He leaned against the tree, his eyes fixed on the sky. And then the tears came.


	31. Act 4: The Sorcerer's Curse

**[A/N]** In last chapter, to clear things up: Rue spoke to Mytho as Svanna, but he made some unsettling...erm, observations. Fakir, rather unluckily, saw the two and thought he saw 'Ahiru' as the swan siren with Mytho.

Drosselmeyer isn't finished yet. Just you wait. He's more diabolical than we could have ever dreamed.

_"If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, we have at least to consider the possibility that we have a small aquatic bird of the family anatidae on our hands." Douglas Adams_

**Chapter 32: The Sorcerer's Curse**

Ahiru couldn't even explain to herself what had happened. It simply made no sense whatsoever. Sure, Fakir hadn't recognized her, but that didn't explain this ignoring her and then his sudden violent outburst. And threatening to end her existence? Since when had matters escalated from ignoring her to 'ending her existence'? Her expression became one of annoyance and hurt as she turned the matter over in her head.

At this point, talking to him seemed hopeless. Fakir would simply pretend she didn't exist or come up with some other insult. Frankly, Ahiru didn't think she could take it.

Lillie was having the time of her life right now. She was frequently in hysterics whenever Ahiru approached and made no small point of commenting on the tragedy that was Ahiru's love life. Pique seemed more understanding, although she had a difficult time coming up with words to reassure Ahiru that it would all be okay.

Pique had given up on Autor, but she couldn't stop the futile stirrings of warm admiration deep within. Even when she saw him devoting all his energy to helping Rue… and Rue being a manipulative bitch in return. At least, that was how Pique saw it.

Ahiru continued to work on her expression, her pointe work, her turnout, and all the little things that, when put together, made a dance spectacular. Somewhere in the back of her mind there was the idea, however futile, that Fakir would be impressed with her…and then what would happen?

Ahiru knew that wasn't the problem. But she had to understand what was going on. However hard she thought about it, the puzzle refused to unravel itself.

"And it never will!" Drosselmeyer said to her, as if she could hear him. "For you are missing a vital piece of the puzzle! Fakir knows of both swan princesses, but is completely mistaken as to their identities! And you…have no idea of the existence of Svanna! Rue has made sure of that!"

"Fear not, sweet heroine." His voice became lower in an attempt to sound comforting, which miserably failed. "I shall clear matters up for you…by making them murkier! You are very welcome!"

He would visit Ahiru now. Oh, how entangled the plot would become after this! He wouldn't talk to Rue yet. She wasn't so naive as to not understand what had happened to Mytho. Ahiru, on the other hand, was another matter.

That was why he would tell her exactly what he intended. Well, almost exactly what he intended.

* * *

Ahiru was alone on her knees in her practice room, having an identity crisis.

"Hello, Ahiru."

That voice…she recognized it. Instinctively, she knew that this person couldn't have good intentions. A queer old man stood before her, clad in a multicolored cape with eyes like wide saucers. She shuddered.

How had he gotten here? Ahiru didn't recognize him from around the school. She stared at him suspiciously.

"I am the god of your world!" The old man told her.

"Oh no you didn't!" Ahiru returned saucily. "I've had it up to here with crazy people! Get out of my practice room and stay away!"

He had disappeared, almost in the blink of an eye. Suddenly his voice was whispering in her ear.

"I would advise you to take what I say with utmost respect. I don't look kindly upon disobedience. Besides, this isn't your practice room…did you forget about Fakir so easily?"

She whirled around and backed away from him, completely unsettled. "I don't know what you mean…"

"Congratulations! You have been selected to play the heroine in my tragedy! My name is Drosselmeyer, and I'll be the host for this event. In order to help you with your task, I'll give you some _special _clues."

"Are you the one who's messing up my life?" Ahiru asked angrily.

His manner was teasing. Disappearing again, he flickered back into existence two centimeters away from her nose. Ahiru barely stifled a shriek as she leaped backwards.

Drosselmeyer cackled madly. "Ever wonder why everything seems to be going wrong?"

Her lips pressed together, fury in her eyes. "It's you, isn't it! That one morning…" They both knew she was referring to the beginning of the story, so long ago, when she had agreed to become a beautiful swan-girl.

"Maybe." His smile stretched wider and wider, like a very hungry caterpillar.

Ahiru became indignant. "You have no right to do anything of the sort!"

"Do you remember, at the beginning of the story, when you agreed to become a swan princess?"

"No." Ahiru said sarcastically, having picked up more than vocabulary from Fakir. Her facial expression _almost_ mirrored one of Fakir's smirks.

Drosselmeyer wasn't about to let her sarcasm ruin his storytelling skills. "Denial! That's what it's about. The cardinal rule of stories is that in order to gain something, you must sacrifice something else of equal worth. In order to gain that beauty, something had to be sacrificed. You unknowingly traded something of value in order to become Odette. Can you guess what that something is?"

"My soul?" Ahiru asked, horrified.

"Almost!" Drosselmeyer answered happily.

"FAKIR?" Ahiru's hand clapped over her mouth.

"Wish I'd thought of that." Drosselmeyer said ruefully. "Maybe next time. Keep trying."

"Um…that's it. I'm stuck." Ahiru replied.

"Your human form. Odette is to Ahiru as you are to a…"

"A what?"

"A duck." Drosselmeyer said, barely containing his glee. "A small, helpless duck."

"So I'm a duck now?" The question didn't make sense to Ahiru herself. She shot Drosselmeyer a glare worthy of Fakir.

"No. But you _will_ become a duck, in all likelihood. Would you care to experience the joys of being a duck?" His tone taunted her.

"What do you mean? I'm a human. I'm Ahiru." She told him disbelievingly, forgetting to be angry.

"If your knight can break the spell."

"What? No! You're lying! It's all a sham! I'm out of here! I'm—QUACK!"

The world loomed around her in a gigantic, unforgiving blur. Drosselmeyer's grin became demon-like as she waved her feathered wings in front of her face…no, her beak.

"QUACK, Qua-qua QUACK QUA-QUACK QUACK!"

"Now perhaps you'll sit and listen. I hope you-"

"QUUAAAAACK! QUUAAACK! QUUUAAAAAAAAACK!"

"Oh, be quiet."

"QUACK, QUACK, QUA-QUACK, QUACK! QUAAAAAACK!"

"It is futile, don't you understand that?"

"Qu-quack. Quack, quack, quack. QUAAAAAAACK!"

"Don't you hear what's coming out of your mouth? Now cease quacking and listen."

The little duck folded her wings defiantly.

"Now, as I was saying, I hope you understand what I'm about to tell you…not that it'll make much difference anyway because I've set you up for failure. If Fakir can see past the guise of Odette, wrench himself away from her, and love _you_ instead…then you get your happy ending... that is, his humanity restores you to a human and he dies a tragic death! If he declares his love for her, then you're the one who's doomed. Away as a duck you go!"

_Wait, what? That made absolutely no sense. _"QUACK QUACK QUUUUUAAAACK!" Ahiru would not stand for this utter nonsense. What did he mean, Fakir would die? What? This was making less and less sense as she found out more and more.

"Listen, Ahiru. You are the heroine of my tragedy. I have decided that, in order to make things more tragic, you should be endowed with knowledge of what will happen in the end. Knowledge causes suffering as well, you know."

"So, I will explain things to you more clearly. You will comply with everything I tell you. Now, I will explain the first scenario. You become Princess Odette. You dance more with Fakir. You don't say a single word about anything I've told you. You let him forget about Ahiru and fall in love with Odette. You ask him if he loves you. Wait for him to say yes. Now, you will turn into a duck forever because you have been betrayed. Simple as that. He, however, lives with the knowledge that he has turned an innocent girl into a duck. Both parties are suitably hurt and agonized."

"QUACK!" Ahiru screeched. _Fakir won't get all lovey-dovey just because someone is pretty! He's much smarter than that! I trust him!_

"That's what you think." Drosselmeyer said smugly. "Moving on. Second scenario is as follows: You disobey my plan in any way possible. You make any move to warn Fakir about the curse, Odette, your duck-form, or any of what I have just told you…or you do anything to help him love you as Ahiru... well, firstly, you turn into a duck the moment you do so. He understands your plight (if you don't get around to explaining it, I will) and refuses to play a role in this story. Instead, he will devote himself to helping you in your duck-form. He will genuinely think that he can save you, despite your best efforts to warn him to the contrary."

"And then, he shall pen a story to bring your humanity back to you. I've designed his character, so I know he will do it without a second thought! As you will by now be a duck, you will be powerless to stop him. I won't tell you exactly what happens, but…whatever, I'll tell you. He'll sacrifice his humanity through the sheer power of his words and die a tragic death just as you become human once more! And it will be perfectly timed so that neither of you can say even a word to each other, as one slips into life and the other dies away! This was originally my back-up plan, but I think I like it more than the original!"

"QUACK!" Ahiru shrieked. The man was clearly insane. This entire thing was set up so that she would succumb to temptation and try to warn Fakir about what was going to happen, leading him to his doom. Well, she wasn't doing that. Instead of death, at least he would be able to go on with his life after this wretched mess was over. But what did happen to him after the story anyway?

Drosselmeyer seemed to understand exactly what she was trying to say. "What happens to Fakir if you've turned into a duck? I might decide to let him be…but it requires total complicity with my scheme on your part. You must play your part willingly for him to survive. Tell me, Ahiru, are you willing to spend the rest of your life as a duck?"

Inwardly, Drosselmeyer imagined what would have happened if he had decided to tell her the truth. His words might have gone something like this.

'Oh, let's see. I've got it narrowed down to a couple of options, but no matter what happens he dies in the end. And, um, so do you.'

But Ahiru still had no idea why Fakir was so mad at her. She had already told him she was a swan princess. Drosselmeyer's scheme didn't make any sense at all. Didn't Fakir already know about who Odette really was?

"As for your initial transgression…when you told Fakir…I took pity on you, since you didn't know of the curse, and I did not turn you into a duck. Instead, I warped your words before they reached Fakir's ears. He heard something else entirely, and so did everyone around you. It doesn't concern you what he heard you say… I only did this out of the goodness of my heart."

"Quack, quack." Ahiru said disdainfully. _As if there is any goodness in your heart._

Yet, this meant she could at least marginally forgive Fakir for that outburst.

Who knew what Drosselmeyer had made him hear? Something terrible, most likely. _Hey Fakir, guess what? I'm pregnant. LOL, in case you didn't know, it's not yours. _Ahiru shuddered at the thought. _ Hey Fakir, I accidentally murdered, like, ten people. And I kinda blamed it on you, so now everyone thinks you did it. Police are on your trail. Maybe you should hide or something? _

Ahiru was willing to overlook his ignoring her. From this point on, she would act in his best interest. To know that she had the chance of being a human was tantalizing, but the knowledge that it would come with Fakir's life was nothing short of cruelty on Drosselmeyer's part.

She would be content to remain a duck if it meant Fakir would be safe.

_It's for Fakir_, Ahiru told herself, suppressing her horror. _Be strong. _Despite her best efforts, tears welled in her blue eyes.

"Go on and cry, little duck. Nothing can save you now! Don't forget: if Fakir loves you for you, Ahiru, then you turn into a duck. If you tell anybody, you turn into a duck. If you do something I don't like, you turn into a duck. If you so much as do anything suspicious, you turn into a duck. And rest assured that Fakir will not be living much longer after that happens! See you later!" Drosselmeyer's cape swirled around him and in a shift of light he was gone.

With some relief, the now human Ahiru brushed her hair away from her face. Had she imagined being a duck? _Well, this is just great. _

_Exactly what I needed. I suddenly became a princess under a terrible curse, except the knight I love will die if I try to give us both a happy ending... Three cheers for Ahiru the soon-to-be duck._

Did this mean that Drosselmeyer could manipulate her like a puppet? Was that her fate? Was she the princess from a long-lost fairy-tale? Or rather, from Swan Lake?

* * *

Figuring out how to manipulate Ahiru had been quite the challenge. She wasn't prone to investing herself in endless pursuit of perfection, as Rue was. Ahiru didn't think she needed to be better or brighter, necessarily. She wasn't the type to be plagued by endless fits of insecurity. She recognized that she wasn't as graceful as she would like, but she didn't drown in self-pity over it.

Drosselmeyer couldn't bind her to an alternate form as he had with Rue, or get her to do _anything_ that would work against _anyone_. Odette held almost nothing to entrap Ahiru; Ahiru was happy with herself as she was.

Drosselmeyer had then discovered Ahiru's fatal weakness. She was unswervingly loyal to those she loved. Ahiru would do anything to rescue even people who were acquaintances from undue hazards. For the people closest to her, she would even sacrifice herself.

So he had far more control over Ahiru than he had ever managed over Rue. Rue chased after a pointless ideal, but Ahiru could consistently be counted on to overlook her own interests to protect others. And Fakir?

"Alas!" Drosselmeyer murmured. "Two hearts are broken, and shall be forevermore - unless the later heart sees the truth. Rest assured that it shall not happen...until he is far, far too late."


	32. Act 4: So Damn Distracting

**[a/n] ** Fakir needs redemption, don't you think? He's been _way_ too mentally unstable lately.

"_We look before and after,_  
_And pine for what is not: [...]_  
_Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought." Percy Bysshe Shelley, excerpt from _To a Skylark

**Chapter 33: So Damn Distracting**

"This week…we will have Ahiru dance the part of the Swan Queen in rehearsal, by herself." Autor announced. Rue's eyes hardened. _He's going to keep that stupid promise_?

Autor then turned to face Ahiru. "Well? Go on. You're welcome."

Ahiru looked completely surprised. "Um…really?"

"Of course! You aren't familiar enough with the part." He nodded seriously. "And I'm thinking of preparing you for a soloist role in a future production."

Ahiru's mouth dropped open. "Wow!" She breathed, truly overjoyed at the thought.

"Naturally, you _will_ have to work a little harder." Autor said confidentially, straightening his glasses. "But I know you can do it. You've come a long way since the first time I saw you dance. I didn't know you were capable of progressing so quickly from that pitiable state."

Again, there were those insults hidden beneath the compliments, but Ahiru hardly minded. "Thank you!" She squeaked, rushing to Mytho's side.

Fakir watched, arms folded. Why did Ahiru have to hug Mytho like that? Why did Autor have to sudddenly decide that Ahiru was worth his attention? And why did Fakir even care?

Neither Ahiru nor Mytho noticed Rue behind them, arms crossed, glaring fiercely at Autor. Autor paused for just long enough to raise his head and return her gaze with an impeccable calmness.

Mytho gave Ahiru a warm smile.

* * *

"You're quite a good dancer, Ahiru." Mytho said smoothly, patting her on the shoulder with a more than friendly touch."You've come very far."

Ahiru looked up at him with wide eyes. "You think so?"

"You're also a lovely actress. It takes a great deal of technical skill to become both Odette and Odile. Now, Odette, you have perfectly. I remember telling you this once, but you both have that innocence."

Ahiru looked down, unsure of what to say. "Ah, well…"

"I think I could help you with Odile, if you wanted. I've noticed you're having trouble with the fouettes ronde de jambe en tournant. Naturally, it's very difficult, and it's meant to be the tour de force of the entire act, so it's understandable."

"Oh, it's really hard to do right! I've been trying to spot my eyes in the mirror as I go around each time, but keeping the rhythm of it…I guess I'll figure it out eventually."

"I wanted to say, I'd be willing to help you with that if you want. Just you, me, and a practice room tonight. It's always nice to have a partner to guide you. What do you say?"

Ahiru's cheeks became tinged with pink as his hand lingered over her collarbone, a finger lightly brushing beneath her chin."I…ah...I'm alright. Uh, thanks though." Mytho's eyes narrowed.

_I'll get around to you eventually, Ahiru. Perhaps later, but better late than never._

* * *

Being partnered for a pas de deux meant nothing, as Fakir knew—he had partnered with several girls many times before, none of whom he had an interest in—but Mytho managed to take every opportunity to engage Ahiru in conversation, and if not, dance with her, even when they weren't rehearsing.

If Fakir had brought his sword to rehearsal, he was sure that at one point he would have lost control and said loudly, "MYTHO. GET. AWAY. FROM. AHIRU." And for good measure, he would have brandished his sword at his former best friend AND Autor. Autor could use a severe warning as well; despite his former admiration towards Rue, he seemed all too eager to pretend Rue didn't exist and tutor Ahiru in the nuances of her role.

Most of all, Fakir could not help but notice how Mytho talked to Ahiru so often, and how every once in a while a faint dusting of pink would appear on her cheeks. Mytho would stand too close to her for Fakir's comfort, and Ahiru made no move to brush him away as she chattered on about something. Either he was a shameless player who had no trouble with flirting with multiple girls at the same time, or he knew Ahiru's true identity.

_Pathetic. Practically everyone's in love with her now. Including me. _Fakir said to himself dryly. _Looks like this charade of innocence is paying off. Idiots._

He couldn't do a thing about it, even though he knew her true purpose. All he could hope to accomplish was keep himself away from her. Yet, even that was extremely difficult.

* * *

Ahiru found her gaze wandering towards Fakir more often than not, and mentally berated herself whenever their gazes almost locked. _I cannot look at him. I cannot talk to him. No. If anything, I should be transforming into that...Odette...and trying to make him love me, if such a thing is possible. But why can't I do so? I don't _want_ him to love another. I don't _want_ that to happen, because for all I know...there's a chance that we can still be together._

_No. It's not possible. Quit thinking about it. He's going to die because of your stupidity. _

And then, almost as if from beside her, she heard Fakir's voice speaking.

"_Moron. It's going to be okay. Neither of us will die if you just do what Drosselmeyer says. You're going to be a duck, but you don't want me to die, right? Yeah. I didn't think you would. So be strong. You can do it, Ahiru."_

Anguished, Ahiru turned to look him in the eye for the first time in what seemed to be forever, only to remember that he wasn't real and she was simply imagining his voice. Besides, he was right. She had to be strong, for him and for herself.

Lillie wasn't helping. At. All.

"Isn't it obvious?" Lillie squealed one day. "_Mytho_, of all the handsome young men, can somehow see part your regrettable clumsiness to love you! Ahiru, you've got your lucky break! I was so worried that you wouldn't have a partner for your romantic tragedy, but now you can get Mytho, you lucky duck!"

_Lucky duck. Oh, the terrible irony._

Ahiru let out a deep breath. "He's just being nice. Everybody knows he belongs with Rue."

"But he's paying so much attention to you! I'll tell you, you've got to take your chance, because Fakir's preoccupied with saving the world. You know I think's going to happen? Mytho's been acting strangely lately, especially because he thinks _you_'re worthy of him. I think he's actually an evil genius who has a plan to rule the world, and he's looking for someone stupid enough to not realize what he's doing. Ahiru, you're perfect for the job!"

"Closer than you'd expect." Drosselmeyer said thoughtfully. "Perhaps I have found myself a successor."

Ahiru became frustrated at Lillie's stubbornness. "I don't think so. He's gotten really odd, and his eyes are purple, and I don't know what to think of him."

"Hm…." Pique said, considering Ahiru's words. It was true that Mytho had been acting strangely. He had been almost like a white-haired doll before, and now…

"Anyway, he's going to end up with Rue. Those two are meant for each other. I know it." Ahiru declared with certainty.

* * *

Rue couldn't help but be jealous.

"My prince, you seem to be taking a certain interest in a red-headed ballerina." She had asked Mytho.

He had chuckled. "She is nothing compared to you, my dear. It's almost like comparing a clumsy ostrich to a graceful swan. I have certain plans in mind, and she was simply…an exercise, if you will…to sharpen my skills so I can begin executing what I have envisioned. You will see that I shall soon move to the next stage. She was selected only because of her proximity. You are my magnificent princess, and I cannot help but love you utterly."

These words assuaged Rue's doubts. He had looked so sincere, a slender hand over his chest and another wrapped around her waist.

Rue didn't know why he was taking such an interest in Ahiru, but she felt certain that he loved Svanna with all of his heart.

Rue's heart thudded in her chest as her thoughts deepened. Mytho had become evil. She had entranced him, and he was hers…but he had become evil. What else could it mean, all this unsettling talk of hearts and blood and such? Was this the price? Did she have to corrupt him to make sure he belonged to her completely?

_Had she done so already?_

"How terrible." She whispered, leaning against the door as if to make sure no one could burst into her dorm room. "I thought…"

What exactly had she thought? That she could save him from the tragedy he had written about? No, in fact, it seemed…she had caused it. He was now an entirely different person! Did she choose to let this happen?

"There's nothing I can do now." She said softly. "Nothing I can do." Rue would love him as best as she could. That would be it.

Surely he wouldn't actually try to _do_ anything. No, it wouldn't matter in the end, she told herself. It didn't matter at all. She might as well get used to it. But then his violet eyes flashed at hers again, and she flinched at the very memory of it.

_I caused the tragedy. It's all my fault._

* * *

Fakir was beginning to have the sickening feeling that something was terribly wrong. Ahiru was slowly driving him insane, day by day. Talking with Mytho, rehearsing with Autor, dancing with emotion and grace...and he _couldn't_ do _anything_ about the stupid voice that told him to be a man and tell them to get away from her. If anything, his man card was severely wanting in terms of new stamps. He supposed he should feel lucky that _Femio_ wasn't wooing her with his ridiculous baskets of rose petals and silly French mannerisms.

She still seemed so innocent. In spite of it all...he needed to give her a chance to explain herself. Before, he had been physically and mentally incapable of facing her. Now, he would do what he should have done long, long ago. Even if it meant she would have the opportunity to steal his soul, or whatever it was swan sirens did.

Wait...what if...

What if _Mytho_ had been the one who had lured _her_ into evil? What if _Mytho_ was the cause of it all, and she was simply an innocent whom Mytho had managed to captivate with his evil ways? And if that was so..._could she be saved_?

The sad fact was...Fakir still loved her.

This was it then.

One. last. chance.

Steadying his resolve, he composed his thoughts quietly. Fakir's footsteps lightly padded towards his old dancing room, where he knew Ahiru would be practicing.

* * *

_Breathe in, breathe out. Strength. Control. Balance your landing, just like Fakir said._

_Fakir._

Even the sound of his name in her head brought back a jarring of memories Ahiru didn't have the strength or control to deal with. She forced a breath out of her cheeks, and then slowly sucked another mouthful of air in.

So much had just happened. Ahiru had just found out she was the unwilling participant in a tragedy—no, the heroine of the tragedy! And there was so much left to be understood!

Well, one thing was certain; she wouldn't breathe a word about any of this to anyone. Especially not to Fakir.

That was when Ahiru saw him in the doorway, standing there with a hopeful yet bittersweet expression as he watched her dance.

"Fakir..." She whispered, and his emerald eyes caught her own.


	33. Act 4: Of Course She Had To Faint

**[a/n]** Lots of drama. Lots of angst. You didn't think Fakir and Ahiru were going to reconcile now, did you? The battle of wits is on. And it is surprisingly entertaining, even though this time it's all Ahiru's fault. People who like memorable insults, stick around. Also, Rose, I did use the suggestion from your review, in the last part of this chapter...perhaps not in the way you'd expect, although it's still pretty cute. If you leave suggestions in the reviews, I'll see what I can do to include them :)

**Chapter 34: Of Course She Had to Faint**

The air became heavy with a sudden chill, and the world around Ahiru stopped. She blinked, uncertain of what was going on.

"I...Fakir! He's here! And...he wants to talk to me!" She murmured excitedly to herself. "Maybe we can clear things up, and maybe he'll stop being a jerk, and maybe..."

My dear..." Drosselmeyer whispered from beside her. "Remember your curse."

Ahiru's eyes widened with shock. "But he's..." Her words trailed off into nothingness as her hopes sank beneath his statement. _The curse. _

"You know what that means, don't you?" Drosselmeyer said softly.

"He's here! I can't just make him go away!"

"Hm...what would make him go away, so he couldn't love you and therefore _die_? I don't know...maybe if you...showed him how much you _hated_ him?"

Ahiru froze. The thought hadn't even occured to her. "What? But I don't."

"You're missing the point." Drosselmeyer sneered. "You do _love _him, don't you?"

"YES!" Ahiru shouted. "I do!"

"Think on my words well..." Drosselmeyer said evilly. "Sacrifices must be made. I hope you won't allow me to take his life...or if you do, I shall have trememdous fun watching his death. Adieu, sweetheart." With these final words, he winked out of existence. The cold rose from the air, although not from Ahiru's heart.

"Fakir..." Ahiru said, almost inaudibly. "Does this mean I should..."

The world came to life once more as Fakir shifted his weight from one foot to the other, folding his arms, and Ahiru realized that she did not have more time to think.

* * *

Little did she know that he had almost allowed himself to hope for a reconcilement... or in the least that she was an innocent who had fallen to Mytho's clutches. If that was so, perhaps he could get another man card stamp by confronting her and saving her from Mytho, if such a thing was possible. Yet, when Fakir had come to the studio, he couldn't bring himself to interrupt Ahiru. The look of concentration on her face brought a smile to his, an expression that hadn't surfaced in weeks. So he leaned against the door frame and gazed at her, so deeply absorbed in her thoughts.

Instantaneously, Ahiru pushed back the urge to let it all go, fall to pieces and start sobbing, and somewhere in there try to explain why he was being A TOTAL MORON and she was just trying to be nice.

No. It was for his own good, she told herself. He would live. She would be a duck. It would all be okay. Now she just had to persuade him to leave her alone so Drosselmeyer wouldn't decide she was being disobedient. Any sign of weakness would tell Fakir the truth. She had to be strong for this..and yet, she hated to admit that it was still Fakir's voice that spoke in her head, telling her to stay calm. _Strength. Control. _

"You." Ahiru was proud to hear that her voice barely quavered.

"Look, things have been kinda odd lately." Fakir said, gaze cast downwards. Wait, wasn't he supposed to be threatening her? Wasn't she supposed to be a dangerous princess capable of seducing him in a heartbeat? Why was he saying all this? "I just wanted to say, I'm sorry for it all. I was kind of being a moron. Yeah. You, not so much. Or in the least, I don't, well, I'm just, um, kind of confused right now. So. Um." _Damn, why am I stuttering?_ "Yeah. So, I think there's been a misunderstanding going on, or something. So..."

With a deep breath, Fakir looked directly at Ahiru. _I didn't bring my sword. I hope that's not a mistake._ "Tell me everything."

Ahiru sensed that this was the one opportunity she would have to clear things up with Fakir. Her last chance. Maybe he would be willing to explain everything to her. Maybe they could even be together again.

In her mind, Ahiru saw herself telling Fakir _everything_. How she had no idea what was going on, how he had suddenly started ignoring her, how she had meant to turn into a beautiful swan princess to _impress _him, not to make him angry, and how she was cursed by Drosselmeyer to turn into a duck, and how what she was about to do was all Drosselmeyer's fault. And no, she was not pregnant with anyone's child, and she hadn't killed anyone, or whatever Drosselmeyer had made him hear.

Right after she would try to tell Fakir his fate if he tried to intervene, Ahiru knew that Drosselmeyer wouldn't miss that opportunity to turn her into a little duck. She saw Fakir kneeling next to her, confused at first and then enraged, rushing to his writing desk. She knew she would quack helplessly, flutter around like a little puffball, trying to get his attention.

He would pen a story, earnestly trying to save her. His words would suck the life out of him as she rose into human form once more. Drosselmeyer's laughter would boom above them as the sobbing Ahiru would hold Fakir, now dead, in her arms. Tears came to Ahiru's eyes at the horror of that tragedy.

No, she would never let that happen.

His mask concealed that internally, Fakir was readying himself for some explanation, any explanation that would tell him what was going on. There had to be some misunderstanding. Drosselmeyer and/or Mytho was surely trying to lead him down the wrong path, and Fakir had almost fallen for it. Ahiru couldn't have been lying to him. Even if she had, it was all Mytho's fault...he was the one who was leading her into evil, not the other way around.

Fakir had prepared himself so completely for reconciliation that he could not have been in any way ready for what followed.

"You are an insufferable moron!" Ahiru shouted. "Whatever we had? It's over. I hate…I hate your face! You have a terrible face! That's right! And your eyes are the stupidest color that ever existed! And I hate you!"

Fakir stared at her in total shock. _You have a terrible face? WTF, Ahiru? _Fakir asked inwardly.

_If I keep on talking I'm going to blurt even more stupid things. He'll see past it, and then he'll know that I still love him! Stupid, stupid, stupid! I'm going to be more believable now. More insults! He has to actually believe that I hate him! _Ahiru thought, trying not to meet his searching gaze.

"Really?" Fakir said accusingly, rage flaring deep within. "An insufferable moron?"

"And an IDIOT!" Ahiru screeched, feeling somewhat proud of herself that she had managed to use his two favorite words before he had.

"Ahiru, I don't understand..."

"AN IDIOT! You're one, I mean."

"Wait, what?"

"I hate you, Fakir!"

"But I thought..."

"Um...I hate you more!...than you do! Yeah! Um. Yes. YOU'RE A MORON!" Ahiru said, fervently hoping that he hadn't heard the tremor in her voice.

A hard rage flared in Fakir's eyes. She was going to insult him mercilessly while he stood begging for forgiveness? "You are so damn annoying it's hard to breathe." Fakir returned. "That stupid talk and that stupid prattle, prattle, prattle, always blithering on about things no one cares about. Still you seem to enjoy repeatedly making a fool of yourself."

"Well, you're the fool! You're the one who thinks you're so good at ballet, Mr. I'm-so-sexy-and-I-know-it even though your vanity and narcissism couldn't make you any less attractive!"

Pause. Ahiru nervously racked her brains for something to insult him with.

"Um... And guess what?" Ahiru continued. "The fangirls are wrong. You're actually so insensitive it hurts my ears when you talk!"

"My head buzzes from your incessant chattering." Fakir said, voice rising, clearly incensed. "My pulse pounds whenever I see your stupid face. I get angry just from the sight of you. You're so damn distracting and I can hardly function when I'm around your moronic self. I don't know how I ever managed to fall for an idiot like you."

"I don't know how I managed to fall for a moron like you!" Ahiru answered. "You're not even nice! At all! I hope you get run over by an ice cream truck and then get run over by the kids running after the ice cream truck!"

"I hope you listen to yourself talk one day so you can find out just how annoying you are!" Fakir parried. "And I hope you do the world a favor and become a hermit for the rest of your life so no one has to listen to you talk anymore. Nobody cares, you idiot! If you were any dumber, you'd have to be watered twice a day!"

"Well, guess what?" Ahiru returned, by now red in the face from shouting. "Nobody cares about your man card. You think you're a manly man because of a stupid man card? You think you're badass? Well, you, sir, are unmemorable and unremarkable in every way imaginable. You can't even protect anyone. You think that trying to protect people makes you legit somehow? Yeah, in the same way jumping gets you closer to the sun. I don't care, you moron. I just don't care."

Ahiru knew that she had gone too far. Fakir's man card was a matter close to his heart, and she had just insulted his abilities as a swordsman and a protector.

Tension snapped and crackled in the air as Fakir stood there, struck mute, at a loss for words to say. He towered fiercely over Ahiru, his face less than a foot away from hers as he glared at her with a look that spoke of murder.

They were close enough to kiss in less than a second, and Ahiru felt her heartbeat pound in her ears. _No. No! NO! I can't! That would defeat the whole point! _

_She just insulted me! Why am I getting distratcted already? Is she as turned on as I am? Wait. Stop. No. No. Damnit Fakir, keep your thoughts together. …no. no. no. Think of more insults. More insults. _Fakir said to himself.

When he did find his voice, his voice was scathing._ "_Your attention span rivals that of a goldfish. You have the most depressing smile. You are a sad, lonely little girl, and you have my pity. I refuse to continue this battle of wits with an unarmed opponent."

"You. You. Um. I hate you. Just…seeing you here…get away from me. I never want to see you again. Don't say another word. Go away." Ahiru ordered, determined to have the last word.

Yet, she knew that she would ferociously protect him to the end. Even if it meant making sure that he completely misunderstood what was going on. Ahiru hadn't known she could lie so convincingly, even when she was lost in the heat of the moment. But then again, she would do anything for Fakir.

Fakir froze, motionless._ "_What did I tell you?" She said loudly. The statement was not a question. He remained in place. Ahiru didn't notice that his hands were shaking.

"Go. Away. Her voice only became stronger.

When she saw that he still lingered, unmoving, she completely lost it. If he stayed there any longer she would break.

"GO AWAY!" Ahiru herself was surprised by the false fury concentrated in her voice. She had to convince him not to come back again. Her hands balled into fists, and she stared at him with ferocity, daring him to remain. Did she see…dark pain sparkling in Fakir's green eyes? Another look and his mask shifted. He became impassive, a stone statue looming above her.

"As you wish." Even his voice sounded robotic.

_What have I done? _Ahiru thought, too emotionally exhausted to say anything in return. W_hat have I done?_

_I've turned Fakir against me for good. _At the thought, all of her strength seeped out of her as she crumpled sideways noiselessly.

Fakir could never have let her touch the ground. On instinct, Fakir leapt forward to catch her, an arm looping beneath her shoulders and another under her knees before she could hit the floor. He was left with a limp, lifeless Ahiru in his arms, a troubled heart, and conflicting emotions. _Of course the idiot had to faint. But...s__he just told me to get away. And then she fainted. Is this all a ploy to steal my heart? _Fakir asked himself. _Can I even get a stamp for my man card? Maybe something like 'catch a girl who faints before she falls to the ground while being awesome'?_

_No, probably not. _

_WAIT, NO, WHAT AM I DOING? I've got to check her pulse! _

Cursing at himself under his breath for being so stupid, Fakir laid two fingers against her neck and was relieved to find that she wasn't dead. Fakir sighed, standing there with Ahiru still nestled against him. Things were getting very, very muddled, but no matter what happened there was no way he was leaving her there, especially not while she could be in a possible coma. Besides, Ahiru was very light, and holding her was hardly a strain. Fakir stood completely still, unable to tear his gaze from her peaceful expression. He could count each freckle on her cheeks, and before he had realized it, he had been _smiling_. Oh, the horror! His expression quickly returned to stony indifference.

He couldn't have said how long he stood there, uncertain of what to do. At most it was five minutes, but to him it felt like an eternity. Should he take her to the school nurse? Leave her there? Find someone who knew what to do with a girl who had fainted? Even as he stood, new, hopeful thoughts began to dawn on him. Perhaps there _was _some hope for her after all, and maybe she could be rescued from Mytho's evil clutches. She had looked uncertain even as she had shouted at him, meaning that that evil wasn't necessarily inherently _within_ her. It was probably all Mytho's fault, who had brainwashed her into hating Fakir. If that was the case...

Fakir never got to finish his thoughts, for at that moment her eyelashes fluttered delicately. _Damnit, what am I supposed to do?_ Fakir thought wildly. _Oh, what the hell. I can't put her down. I can't start running for the nurse. I can't even move. _

Ahiru's eyes snapped open, and for a moment both regarded each other. Ahiru hated to admit it, but she savored the warmth of being next to him once more.

Nevertheless, Ahiru fairly jumped away from Fakir, barely landing on her feet. She stumbled, but quickly regained her footing. Ahiru remained mute, unable to think and struggling to hide her panic. She cast a wide-eyed look at Fakir, who was gazing at her pensively. She had to leave, because she'd put herself in terrible danger. Drosselmeyer would be furious at her for _fainting_ and allowing Fakir to feel all _protective_ of her. Ahiru had been lucky she hadn't woken as a little duck.

_But he caught me when I fell. _

_-But she yelled at me to go away._

_He must still feel something._

_-Does she still feel anything for me? _

_This is exactly like a soap opera._

_-This isn't a damn soap opera. __To hell with it all, I'm leaving._


	34. Act 4: The Evil Prince of Hearts

**[a/n]** Ahiru will begin to think of ways to escape her situation and perhaps even act on her ideas next chapter. For now, enjoy evil Mytho being evil.

_"All things truly wicked start from an innocence." Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast_

**Chapter 35: The Evil Prince of Hearts**

"Costume fittings shall be this week!" Autor told them authoritatively. "Keep up the good work, dancers! We're almost there!" He received nods from almost all the cast members as they continued their warm-up for rehearsal.

That rehearsal, Autor noticed strange things. Strange beyond the usual.

Outside the windows gathered swarms of dark birds. Crows, perhaps, but these birds were larger than regular crows. Their loud, incessant cawing and squawking broke through the music and caused many a dancer to lose track of the rhythm. Several times, they were set back as the music became inaudible.

Autor frowned and scribbled on his notebook. That week of Ahiru's happiness at being the Swan Queen had ended, and Rue had returned to her usual place. This wasn't to say that Autor _liked_ giving her the part, but he had always been a man of his word.

The individual dancers had talent, but together, something didn't fit. This seemed to be beyond the usual _Mytho is distant, Rue is sad, and Fakir is aloof _kind of odd.

Mytho, far from being reserved, seemed to be brimming with a certain mischevious quality. On its own, this was odd enough to give Autor pause.

Mytho had always seemed politely withdrawn, but now…something was surely wrong. Every movement suddenly had a hidden sinister meaning, each breath slow and calculated, his jaw set in firm defiance. The girls swooned, thinking him more handsome than ever, for not only was he good-looking but he now also had that 'bad boy' aura.

"He might even be as devilishly attractive as Fakir!" Autor heard Freya giggle to her friends.

"Are you kidding? Fakir might be handsome and all, but he's _mean_. Mytho's actually _nice_ to people." Ellen answered emphatically.

Autor sighed, wondering what put _him_ out of the running for 'Most Devilishly Attractive'. Maybe it was the glasses.

Rue—well, nothing was strange about her—beautiful, poignant, graceful. However, he could see the hauntedness in her eyes, as if she might break down at any moment.

Autor had never seen Ahiru without her trademark smile and her happy chatter. Instead, he found a different girl: resolute, steadfast, and strong. When he deliberately focused on her and avoided Rue, Ahiru actually _listened_ to him and tried to improve her technique. Ahiru's normal cheer had dissipated, but her eyes glimmered with a new determination, almost as if she had resolved to do something. She seemed completely oblivious to Mytho, whose hidden motives made even Autor uneasy.

Here was the thing Autor found most interesting. Whenever Fakir paused, waiting for Ahiru, Ahiru would repeatedly brush past him. Fakir would try to speak to her, and Ahiru would blatantly ignore him. She would turn away from his terse attempts to start a conversation and sail off in the opposite direction.

_I never thought I'd see Fakir the one who was being ignored in the same way he rejects so many fangirls_. Autor thought. Indeed, he had never thought Ahiru to be the type of girl who was capable of ignoring _anyone_, let alone someone with such a commanding presence as Fakir.

Gradually, Autor noticed that Fakir's attempts had ceased, that sullen scowls were often on his face, that he ignored Ahiru just as often as she ignored him.

_What a shame_. Autor said inwardly. _I would have thought they matched each other perfectly._

All this made for a rather unsettling rehearsal. Autor found himself sighing as he ordered people repeatedly to be more expressive, to hold themselves together, to jump higher, or whatever it was at the moment.

* * *

Watching Rue dance caused an aching to settle into his chest. Everything he had told her that night was true. So, so true. She was vain, egocentric, and seemed incapable of true emotion or feeling. Autor had no idea how to help her, or if it would be worth his time to even try.

As Autor dismissed the cast, he made up his mind. "Swan Queen!" Rue turned back and came towards him. Why did he call them by their casted roles and not their names? To remain professional, yes, but it seemed so silly. Rue wasn't just a Swan Queen, although the title fit her perfectly.

"Rue."

She gave him a barely perceptible nod. Autor forced himself to think of what he was going to say.

"I hope you have learned something." Autor said, an edge of coldness creeping into his voice.

Rue did the last thing he was expecting. She knelt, tucking her knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her shins. "I don't know anymore." She sounded quieter than usual, almost melancholy.

Autor raised an eyebrow. "I don't know either. What you don't know, I mean." He said, sitting next to her matter-of-factly.

"Autor, I'm going to ask you something." Rue said, staring at some point infinitely far away.

Autor waited.

"Suppose there was a hypothetical person in a story. Who was good and kind to everybody, and everybody loved him."

"Doesn't sound like much of a story to me." Autor answered. "You need some angst. Kill him off, and now you're talking. Civil unrest? A tornado? His lover kills herself? Sounds like a plan."

Rue sighed. "He was of virtuous character until he met his lover. She…influenced him badly, so he became evil, and corrupt."

"Hm. There's potential." Autor commented. "Add a suicide just in case."

"But the problem was that she didn't want him to be evil, and by the time she had realized what happened to him it was too late. He…loved her, just as she loved him, with a desperate passion, but was it worth the price?"

Autor thought, nodding at the rhetorical question at the end. He hadn't known Rue liked stories so much. "For him? Or her?"

"What does she deserve?" Rue murmured, almost as if to herself.

"Well, was she evil?" Autor asked matter-of-factly.

A pause.

"No." Rue breathed.

"Then they both deserve happiness." Autor answered firmly. "Of course, they won't get it, but that's another matter. It depends on if her love is pure. If she loves him…truly, deeply, and for the sake of love itself, she deserves nothing but the best. If she simply wants to use him for her own ends, then she deserves being manipulated just as she planned to manipulate him. That's what I think."

Rue was silent. "Thank you, Autor." She stood, brushing off her ballet tights.

"Of course." Autor said. "Let me know if you want to talk some more about stories! This was particularly interesting. Wait! Where are you going? We could talk some more!"

"I've got to go see somebody." Rue said quietly.

Autor's curiosity was one of the traits most predominant in his character. Who exactly was she going to see? The most obvious answer would be Mytho, but…

He waited, struggling with his desire to find out more. Ten seconds passed…and then twenty…Autor let out a short, impatient huff. _What are you thinking?__ Respect her privacy! It doesn't matter who she's meeting!..._

…

Screw it, he was going to go see for himself.

* * *

She was a fading figure in the distance when he emerged. Rue seemed to be heading towards the forest. No matter. Autor would follow her.  
He ran, his feet pounding on the ground, ignoring the scandalized looks around him.

Autor had entered the forest now. The sun had set, and the path was darkening. Rue appeared to be surrounded by something dark (was it just his vision? perhaps leaves or feathers?) and Autor heard the cawing of crows in the distance. Puzzled, he slowed his pace and followed her quietly.

When she came out into an open clearing, he had to clap his hand over his mouth in disbelief. The figure he had thought was Rue was a completely different person. Whatever Autor had thought lovely about Rue…everything that made Rue so unique…were magnified times a hundred in the complexion of this girl. The dark, bewitching eyes and elegant profile…the slender wrists and swanlike neck…Autor wondered if this was another person entirely.

And Mytho knelt before her as he took her hand and kissed it tenderly.

This turn of events reminded Autor of the ballet stories he had studied when training to be a choreographer. From what he could understand, Rue could turn into another person, a magical ballerina princess. This might explain why she had been agonized by her own inadequacy; of course, nothing could compare to that which didn't exist in normal life.

Normal life…Autor was struck by an epiphany. Of course! Why hadn't he seen it before? The stories, the ballet, the tragedy…

They were inside a story! He adjusted his glasses frantically, as if to better see the scene unfolding before the lake. No wonder this had all seemed so theatrical. To whomever was organizing this story, Autor had to give credit. Not only had they managed to choose the perfect heroine, the perfect prince, and the perfect setting, but they had also perfectly timed it all. The only question was if this story would be a tragedy or not.

Considering his own penchant for tragedies, Autor cursed inwardly. _Why did you have to go and make the finale a tragedy? _There was much research that needed to be done. Autor gazed a moment longer at the picturesque couple dancing together, but he knew that he could not indulge in such luxuries for too long.

Autor walked briskly along the path to the library, intending to look up all the stories he could. Maybe he could figure out how this one would end.

"So you have figured it out." It was impossible to tell where the voice came from within the forest. It could have been from the ground, the sky, inside his head. or anywhere. Autor clenched his fists.

"Who's there? What's going on?"

"The researcher now knows that he is in a story. Drosselmeyer's story. Tell me, Autor, what do you plan to do now?" Autor's reaction was nothing short of frenzied. He turned around repeatedly, polished his glasses with his polishing cloth, blinked feverishly, and finally decided on hiding behind a tree, although he doubted it would do much good.

All his worst fears resurfaced instantly…the very reason he had become a choreographer…why he had researched stories…Autor had wanted to gain some insight as to the nature of free will and destiny. He needed to know about the nature of stories; most importantly, he had to be able to control the movements of dancers rather than being controlled himself. It looked as if his world was about to fall apart.

"Autor, do not hide from me. You cannot hide from fate. Some things must be predetermined."

Autor's face became pale.

"Let me tell you something, Autor."

The next words chilled him to the bone. "She will die. If you want to get out alive, run for your life."

Autor waited, but that was all.

Dust rose behind him as he dashed for the library in a desperate frenzy.

* * *

Ahiru had proved too difficult to manage, so Mytho would leave her alone for now.

But that wouldn't stop him from his mission.

She danced lightly among the flowers like a sprite in the breeze, twirling as her fine blonde hair settled about her. Naturally, she would be his first victim.

_"_Are those chrysanthemums?" Something about his voice gave her an odd feeling. Yet, when she looked up at him, he had the most beautiful amethyst-colored eyes. Hair like swan feathers feathered across his forehead and his features reminded her of a porcelain doll's.

Freya knew who he was. "Mytho!" She said, with a sharp intake of breath. "What are you doing here?"

Mytho shrugged. "This garden is exceptionally pretty…just like you."

Freya looked down at the flowers in her hands and blushed. She had never heard Mytho compliment a girl besides Rue like that before. And even then, he hadn't been one who was usually generous with compliments to his former girlfriend.

And yet…something about him was different. She couldn't be sure what it was. Freya nodded at him, marveling at the exquisite sparkling of his violet eyes.

He looked around, almost as if to make sure that no one else was there. Freya didn't know why he was looking; this particular spot was secluded by a grove of trees. Today, she had eaten early and ran straight to her flower garden to check on the flowers. Why was he here, anyway?

All thoughts about why he was here dissipated in the brilliance of his gaze.

He held out a bouquet of white roses. "For you."

Freya's blush deepened. She hardly knew him, and yet he was presenting her with roses? Wasn't Femio the only one who did that?

Mytho, for his part, had decided to take a page from Femio's book. It seemed to be wildly popular with the ladies.

He came closer. "Are you willing to love me, Freya?"

Her initial thought was this: _What is he talking about? _But his look was so genuine, so heartfelt, that she felt obliged to take him seriously. Upon serious consideration of his question, she discovered that, why, yes, she was willing to do so. Mytho was the ideal man admired by almost all the girls in the school...handsome, caring, charming, kind. She could hardly believe he was _here _talking to _her_.

_"_Yes." Freya answered.

_"_Are you willing to give your heart to me?" He asked, looking like an angel fallen from the sky.

_Well that's an odd way to put it_, Freya thought. Nevertheless, the answer was "Yes."

Her eyes shifted from bright, curious blue to blank, emotionless amber.

Who could have thought that it would be so easy?

* * *

Victorious, Mytho dashed away from the flower garden. In an instant, her heart had been his. All the rest of them would willingly give their hearts to him. How gratifying to know he was so worthy of being loved.

His motives might not be pure, but who had time for that? He had once thought this course of events to be a tragedy, and now he couldn't see why it was so. Things seemed to be unraveling just as they should be.

Mytho remembered his full past, his name, and his title. Yes, he was a true prince. No one would ever suspect that he could be the secret menace lurking in the shadows of the school halls. He could feel his vitality growing stronger. Soon, he would be unstoppable.

He approached Ellen. He didn't even need to ensure that they were shielded from the passing eye. There was no need for him to turn into an evil raven prince, or for the skies to turn grey and stormy, or for him to laugh maniacally. He knew full well that his power lay in his ability to be subtle. Had the girl actually known that her word would be binding, matters would have been quite different. No one would be stupid enough to declare her love to Mytho if he had disclosed the fact that her soul would belong to him as a result.

Subtlety was key. The change that occurred was nothing more than that her eyes became blank, meaningless amber, and that his smile turned from charming to evil. He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her staring vacantly at the ground. His powers as the prince of his land were such that he could conduct a heart-stealing operation with the greatest of ease.

Who was next?

He knew where the members of his fan-club were meeting. Remembering that the fangirls seemed to use the word 'love' with an alarming frequency in relation to him, he felt confident that it would be the perfect place to start.

He was simply standing there, waiting in the shadows, when he heard the excited squeal, "OHMIGOSH, MYTHO, I'M YOUR BIGGEST FAN! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU RIGHT?"

"You keep using that word." Mytho murmured. "_Love_. I don't think it means what you think it means." It was a simple matter to ask her if she was willing to give him her heart.

As they arrived, one by one, he persuaded each to give up her heart to him. All he needed was a declaration of speech, and for each girl who had given him her heart to mean what she said, truly and completely. Of course, no one was hesitant when her idol approached and asked for her heart, thinking it simply a means of romantic phrasing when he said, "Give me your heart". Each had been delighted at the fact that _he_ was asking _her_ to be _his_.

Now he had fine-tuned his skills, polishing his methods until he felt absolutely confident in his abilities to secure a declaration of love from anyone he wished. It wasn't until later that he would implement his plan.

A certain red-head would be next.

_Ahiru, beware. I will come for you, and your heart will be mine._


	35. Act 4: Lying By Omission

**[a/n]** In this chapter, Ahiru comes up with a creative plan. The only problem with it is that she isn't the greatest at...

**Chapter 36: Lying by Omission**

_How did my life get so messed up_? Ahiru asked herself. _Drosselmeyer wants a tragedy. Fakir wants to be a moron who can't understand anything. And I just want things to go back to_ _normal_. Ahiru's gaze drifted off into the distance and settled on a point infinitely far away, and she sighed with abandon. _I don't want to be a duck. At all. _

"Our poor little Ahiru feels unhappy!" Pique said concernedly, patting Ahiru's shoulder. Ahiru blinked, for she hadn't even realized that her two friends were watching her intently.

"Quick, Ahiru, say something cheerful to prove you still have a heart!" Lillie added with glee.

"Why would I need to do that?" Ahiru asked suspiciously.

"Haven't you noticed? So many of the girls on campus have been acting so strange lately!" Lillie answered.

"It's kind of creepy. It's like they don't have emotions anymore. I talked to Freya today, and she didn't even respond. Her eyes were this weird amber color, and I got freaked out and ran away." Pique recounted, shaking her head.

Ahiru's eyes widened. There had to be more going on in this story than she knew about. Amber…hadn't that been the color of Mytho's eyes? And hadn't he once acted cold and emotionless, almost as if he didn't have a heart? Now, she noticed, his eyes were this odd purple-mauve color that flickered like the edge of a flame. What in the world was going on here?

Later, Ahiru would agonizingly think of how foolish she had been. She hadn't seen the vital clues and pieced them together. She would wish she could rewind the story and do something, anything, to stop this madness from happening.

But, as of now, it was already too late.

* * *

All this, Drosselmeyer knew. He watched her musings from the comfort of his world of gears.

"I hope you're not feeling rebellious." He said, stroking his chin as he spoke to his heroine. "You know that won't end well. Whatever you do is hopeless!"

"Now...how is our story going? The comedy, I believe we cleared with the rose-scattering habits of that ridiculous young French gentleman. His death shall be tragic and hilarious. Romance? Well, this entire story is a romance! And we have star-crossed lovers as well! Drama...yes, Rue gives us even an excess of drama. Mystery is there too, for we don't quite know the past of the prince, nor does _anyone_ know the deal I made with Rue! Now, I shall have to add some horror into the mix. Some deaths should do that nicely. Or a bit more fantasy? Mm, detracts from the horror element, but in due time we'll get around to it."

He looked down at his copious notes, scribbled in furious black ink.

_Too bad I give my favorite characters the worst endings. Self-betrayal, and then despair, afterwards hope, which is yanked away as the one 'true love' dies, and futility, until betrayal by others, and and after that a glorious death. Perfect._

"But that is for the end! You shall not know until the end! And by then, your epiphany shall be delayed by far too many…seconds."

His eyes glimmered. Yes, he had taken a risk with his strategy for manipulating the ending of this story. The timing had to be precise, the performances flawless. Yet, Drosselmeyer felt he knew his characters well enough to predict with perfect accuracy exactly what would happen.

"Prepare yourselves for a wild ride. It is futile to resist your fate!"

* * *

As she rushed to lunch, Rue was yanked unceremoniously to the side with a quick tug on her wrist. "What do you think you're doing?" She asked Autor angrily, rubbing her wrist.

"We have to talk. You've made a terrible mistake." Autor said sharply.

"No." Rue countered succinctly.

"Listen. There is a sadistic madman controlling us all, and _you_ are simply doing exactly what he wants you to do."

"Didn't you say he controls us all? Doesn't that mean he controls _you_?"

Autor paused, and then quickly pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "It cannot be denied that _you_ are the one running about transforming into bird-girls. _I _have remarkably sound judgment."

Rue's eyes widened as she seized his shoulders with talon-like hands. "What did you see?"

"Let go of me." Autor said disdainfully, brushing her off. "What I saw is none of your business. You need to quit this _now_."

"Or what?" Rue asked savagely.

"You will die. Not just you, but other people will pay the price for your stupidity." Autor spat.

"I can't believe that you're supposed to be smart." Rue said with contempt. "We all die in the end. What part of _life_ don't you get?"

"_You_ don't get it. It's not about what happens eventually. It's about what happens _right now_. He's trying to make the story a tragedy. You're going along with it because of your own selfish desires. That's your choice."

"Autor, it has nothing to do with you. I will do whatever I please, and you will stay out of my way. Got it?"

"No. I refuse. Innocent people are being dragged into this because of your idiocy." Autor snapped.

Rue made a simple upwards motion of her hand. Out of nowhere, a black raven perched on her finger, regarding Autor with beady red eyes.

"You are right. I _do_ transform into an inhuman creature." Rue murmured. "I like to think that I am the black swan princess who leads the murder of ravens. We are both birds of shadows, of the night."

Autor watched, uncertain of how to respond. Dread settled like a lump in his stomach, and for the first time he felt truly afraid of Rue.

"That means that I am not just a harmless ballerina princess…oh, no. I am much more deadly than that. My ravens will kill if necessary. Let this be your first and only warning."

"Is this blackmail?" Autor asked indignantly.

"Think of it what you wish." Rue answered. "I am simply warning you of what will happen if you try to meddle in my story."

Autor looked about ready to scream with frustration. "Rue, you're the one who's causing this mess! You're the only one who can stop it!"

"Don't force me to resort to extremes." Rue told him icily. "Take your chance and leave."

"I'll tell everybody who you really are." Autor threatened, although he was uncertain of if this was a bargaining chip or not.

"Fine. Tell them." Rue said, not even giving off the slightest whiff of concern. "See if I care."

"You'll regret this. You'll see."

With a final, furious look, Autor turned and left.

* * *

"I know what I'm going to do!" Ahiru sang. "How could I have been so stupid!"

_Moron, what are you doing? Drosselmeyer's going to find out about your plan_, Fakir's voice, the voice of reason, said inside her head.

"Right." Ahiru whispered, and then set to gathering her materials. She had been terrified of Drosselmeyer for so long that she had almost ceased resisting his demonic plans, allowing fear that Fakir would pay the price for her selfishness to keep her from rebellion.

This was the simplest solution possible. She had ignored Fakir, making sure he wouldn't speak to her, but there _might_ just be another way. Drosselmeyer had given her two choices: Fakir's life or his love. Perhaps...she could have both. If she became a duck. What was the vital fact she wished he knew? Not just _a_ fact, but so, so many things.

She took care to cover the paper with her hand even though she could hardly see the page. That was necessary, though, in order to ensure that Drosselmeyer wouldn't notice what she was doing. Darkness shrouded her room save the sliver of pink light that shone through the window from the dying sun. Her pen rested on the paper hesitantly, but once she began to write the stream of words came at an almost unstoppable pace.

_Fakir,_

_FINISH READING THIS LETTER NO MATTER WHAT. DO IT RIGHT NOW._

_Whatever you think of me, it's probably not true. An evil...um, sorcerer called Drosselmeyer put this curse on me, so I turn into a duck whenever...wait, I'm not really sure. Um. Kind of like Swan Lake. But with ducks. Point is, if I manage to make you fall in love with my alter-ego, that beautiful swan-girl Odette, I'm turned into a duck forever, 'cause you betrayed me or something, and you get to live. Cheers, right? If you find out about what's going on and love me as Ahiru, then...here goes. I turn into a duck. You try to write me into a human. Somehow, that will kill you. You die. I become human again. If you didn't follow that, now's the time to start paying attention. So. Here's my plan. _

_I will probably already have turned into a duck when you read this letter, because Drosselmeyer said if I tried to warn you I'd turn into a duck. Ok then. He'll probably taunt you, and then tell you how worthless you are and that it's all your fault and stupid things like that. Don't give in. He just wants you to try to write me into a human and then die. So don't. DO NOT TRY TO WRITE ME INTO A HUMAN. I REPEAT, DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. I like being a duck. It is, um, very enlightening. _

_I DON'T WANT TO BE HUMAN. EVER. IF YOU TRY TO WRITE ME INTO A HUMAN AND DIE, I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU, IDIOT._

_Pretend you didn't get this letter. Pretend you never got it. Burn it or something, in case he doesn't know. If I haven't turned into a duck, something's gone wrong. Drosselmeyer probably planned something more tragic. Don't talk to me. Just remember that I LIKE BEING A DUCK._

_Wait. I almost forgot. In case something goes wrong. I love you. _

_Ahiru_

Ahiru had finished writing in less than two minutes. Her writing was hurried and hardly legible, but she couldn't allow any more time for Drosselmeyer to realize what she was doing. In a heartbeat, she quickly tucked the letter into her dance bag. It was late at night, and she promised herself she'd find a way to give it to Fakir tomorrow. The important part was that he knew he should _not_ try to turn her into a duck. That _was_ what was supposed to kill him, wasn't it?

Drosselmeyer was watching suspiciously. At this stage, it was crucial to keep track of his main characters at all times. He hadn't bothered to see what she was writing, but her expression of contented cheer was making him begin to rethink that. Why was she so happy, and why did she give a clear, relieved smile at the ceiling before falling asleep in the deepest, most contented slumber she'd enjoyed in weeks?


	36. Act 4: OR I SHALL MAKE YOU MARRY ME!

**[A/N] **Time for some comic relief. One of our favorite characters makes an appearance...and, to give you a hint, here's a quote.

_The highest happiness on earth is marriage. William Lyon Phelps_

**Chapter 37: OR I SHALL MAKE YOU MARRY ME!**

That day, Ahiru discovered, had been scheduled for costume fittings. Hers was early in the morning, so she quickly stopped by the Costume Director's office. She could devote the rest of the day to finding Fakir.

"Ahiru, white suits you perfectly! ...And so, I believe, would a bridal gown. It's only inevitable that you'll have to consider MARRIAGE!"

Ahiru sighed. Why did this guy keep on bringing up the incredibly awkward topic of marriage? And repeatedly? It was almost as if he had a marriage obsession or something.

However, she found it hard to deny that the costume did in fact look exquisite on her. The sleek, graceful tutu, the sparkling gems on her bodice, the petite feathers on her red hair…and most of all, the glittering crown atop her head.

The costume seemed familiar, until she realized that Odette had been wearing an alternate version of it. Its beauty evaporated into thin air as she remembered Odette, Drosselmeyer's evil plans, and the way she was trapped into becoming a swan-girl. Her gaze shot towards her dance bag, where her note was safely stowed, and she resolved that her plan would succeed.

Odile's costume looked equally magnificent, but in an entirely different way. The costume had been designed with an eye for dramatic flair. All the details were there, from the revealing neckline—which came past her chest almost down to her stomach, making her feel self-conscious—to the crowlike edges of the black tutu, to the conspicuous dark feathers in her hair. Oddly enough, the feathers in her hair did not seem garish at all, instead setting a striking contrast with flaming red.

Ahiru paused as she studied herself in the mirror, her hands instinctively fluttering to cover the inordinate amount of exposed cleavage.

"My dear Ahiru, you're stunning! You must be dodging several offers of MARRIAGE!"

Ahiru's ears turned almost as red as her hair.

"I suppose you wouldn't mind MARRYING a guy like me, would ya? If it is your true calling in life, then perhaps you could think about MARRIAGE as a suitable career choice! MARRIAGE is a vital institution in today's society, so give it some thought! Perhaps, I might even be so bold as to ask you to MARRY—"

"Mice to neat you, and I've need to leaving—I mean HELP!" Ahiru yelped as she scurried out the door like a little gerbil.

* * *

Fakir stood patiently as the Costume Director found Rothbart's costume. At last, he straightened, holding two costumes: one a deep plum nobleman's attire, the other a striking black-and-silver bird costume.

"I have no doubt you'll be very handsome, Fakir. More than likely, many girls will bring to your attention the matter of MARRIAGE!"

Fakir scowled at the euphoric face of the Costume Director. "Well, Mr…"

"Mr. Katt."

Even the odd name could not bring a smile to Fakir's lips. Marriage was what he did _not_ need to hear about right now. "I don't think that'll be happening, Mr. Katt."

"It is natural to feel embarrassed. But MARRIAGE is a necessary component of life, as part of us as breathing or sleeping. Familiarize yourself with the concept, Mr. Fakir!"

Glowering at Mr. Katt, Fakir grabbed the two costumes and sulked his way to the dressing room.

Two minutes later, as he stood before the mirror with Mr. Katt making sure that the costume fit well, Fakir had to admit that he looked fairly spectacular as the bird-specter Rothbart. The silver feathers and lines along his black costume accented his sinewy, muscular form, and when he raised his arms he was struck by the airy lightness of the formidable wings attached to his shoulders.

"Quite dashing, eh, Mr. Fakir! I hope you consider the possibility of MARRIAGE!"

Fakir's almost-pleased expression was instantly replaced with a grimace. "No thanks."

"MARR-IAGE!" Mr. Katt bellowed. "Say it with me! MARR-IAGE!"

Fakir hurriedly seized the deep purple garb for Rothbart's human appearance and ran away to get this over with as quickly as possible.

* * *

Rue strode out of the costume fitting, glad to be rid of that annoying Mr. Katt. He wouldn't stop telling her all about how MARRIAGE was her true calling in life and how she would regret not marrying later and how MARRIAGE was the key to all her problems and MARRIAGE this and MARRIAGE that (there might have been a poorly timed proposition somewhere in there, although Rue couldn't be sure) until Rue had been ready to give him a bitchslap and storm away.

Luckily it hadn't come to that. She had bitten her tongue and waited through his comments, instead admiring herself in the mirror. It was obvious that she was more suited to the role of alluring Odile, but Rue had also mastered the fragility of Odette.

Not that it mattered. For some reason, there had come a point when she was able to turn into Svanna with ease. Her heart welcomed that limitlessness in dancing, that feeling that she could leap into infinity and return in an hour.

She fancied that Mytho was hers completely, but in her heart supressed fears that she would lose him again. Fakir was no longer protecting him; not that it was needed now, anyway. Mytho was hers now, and she had all she wanted.

Somehow, though, something nagged at her. _It's probably because he's evil._ But Mytho had been acting strangely, as if he didn't want to tell her something. His eyes unsettled her more than ever.

_Drosselmeyer is probably going to come back with some kind of trap. It's too good to be true. _She pushed the feeling away, brow furrowing. _Take it while it lasts, Rue. You've suffered in silence too long._

* * *

"It seems from your habit of scattering rose petals that you are readying yourself for MARRIAGE!"

Femio blinked, freezing with red rose petals still in his hands. "What?"

"MARRIAGE!" The Costume Director trumpeted directly in his face.

"Uh..." Femio said, his brow creasing in panic. "Marriage?"

"YES!" He continued, oblivious to Femio's distraught state.

A whirlwind of thoughts stole through Femio's mind.

_Marriage...but how...MARRIAGE... How can I give all of my love to only one girl? That would deprive all the other girls in the world of my sheer gorgeousness!_

"Do not fret! I can see you are nervous! MARRIAGE is a perfect opportunity for _anyone_, no matter where you come from or who you are!"

"But...but..." Femio said, taking an anxious step backward. _This is terrible! I must never think of the atrocity he is suggesting! But the thought of having to choose between so many beautiful girls...who all adore me...is pure evil! Please, punish this poor sinner!_

"I HAVE SINNED!" Femio shouted wildly, making the Costume Director jump.

"Please, PUNISH THIS POOR SINNER!"

The Costume Director could only tilt his head in confusion as Femio dropped the basket of rose petals and sprinted out in a complete frenzy, presumably to 'punish this poor sinner.'

And there was a curious thundering approaching, almost as if a pack of bulls was charging down the street precisely at the same moment that Femio had left so eagerly.

Mr. Katt shrugged and went back to his work. "Poor child. He will learn the truth of the beauty of MARRIAGE eventually!"

* * *

"Excuse me, but have you seen Fakir?" Ahiru asked Ellen innocently. Ahiru had class now and she usually took care to attend, but rules hardly mattered in comparison to the urgency of her mission.

Ahiru was unnerved by the odd, vacant look in her eyes, but she followed Ellen's instructions hastily, for her focus was on Fakir. She found him dancing alone, and the faint reverberations of powerful, loud music emanated through the door.

Eagerly, she pushed on the door only to find it locked. "Fakir!" Ahiru cried desperately, knowing that she was almost out of time. "Fakir!"

Drosselmeyer leaned closer, stroking his chin. _What is she doing? Simply pounding on the door won't help._

"Fakir!" Ahiru cried, waving at him through the small glass pane. If he had seen or heard her, he gave no indication. Her hand wavered on the note resting in her jacket pocket as she considered the situation. Should she keep on yelling, at risk of being turned into a duck before she could reach him? Already, she had made too much noise.

"Miss Ahiru." Autor was striding towards her, already looking miffed. "Kindly leave Fakir alone and do not shout. Shouldn't you be in class?"

The door was locked, Fakir wasn't responding, and what could be done? Should she try to reach him later, or...but Drosselmeyer might be able to stop her, and if he had caught on to her intentions...

Ahiru knelt quietly to slide the letter under the door.

Drosselmeyer's eyes widened in panic as he realized his mistake.

It was Ahiru's last resort, but she had to reach Fakir. She cast a last, despairing look at the locked door before Autor unceremoniously dragged her out of the building with a well-worded lecture about manners.

* * *

"So, everything went well?" Autor asked Mr. Katt. He'd barely managed to stop Ahiru, who had for some strange reason decided to bother Fakir, and make sure she went to class. He frowned as he remembered her expression, which had somehow seemed furious and pleading at the same time, but it couldn't be helped. Rules were rules, and Autor was not one to condone skipping class.

"They did seem to respond to my suggestions of MARRIAGE with little enthusiasm, but other than that it went spectacularly!" Mr. Katt replied to Autor, who blinked as he was roused from his thoughts.

"Good. No substantial alterations need to be made?" Autor returned.

"Nope!"

"Glad to hear it. We are starting dress rehearsals next week." Autor told Mr. Katt.

"My, my! How time does fly! Especially when concerning MARR-"

"Er, yes, we know." Autor found it hard to pretend that he was unfazed by all this talk of marriage. He pressed on, resolute to keep Mr. Katt from injecting inappropriate and inapplicable references to MARRIAGE into the conversation. "So, I'm especially pleased with our Swan Queen this year. She's especially talented, and I think our other casting decisions have been superb as well. What did you think?"

To Autor's surprise, Mr. Katt's eager expression diminished. "There's something off about that girl…Rue, I think it was. She didn't listen to a word I said about her future MARRIAGE."

Autor's expression changed from rapt attention to a sarcastic _You're-kidding-me_ face.

But Mr. Katt wasn't finished. "Maybe she's acquired some common sense from my help, and begun to think about how MARRIAGE could factor into her life!"

Autor frowned in a manner reminiscent of Fakir. He had to get away from Mr. Katt. "Well, it was nice talking to you. I will see you again, Mr. Katt!"

Mr. Katt's voice rang out. Autor shuddered at the ominous words, and inadvertently his walk turned into a rapid jog.

"DON'T YOU FORGET ABOUT MARRIAGE! IT'S COMING FOR YOOOUUUUUU!"


	37. End of Act 4: Lillie and her Pet Duck

**"**_Be like a duck. Calm on the surface, but always paddling like the dickens underneath." Michael Caine_

**Chapter 38: Lillie and her Pet Duck**

Serious panic was beginning to set in.

"No." Drosselmeyer whispered furiously. "It was perfect! The little idiot messed _everything_ up!" His bulbous eyes watched the note lying on the floor with a growing intensity. Drosselmeyer couldn't leave this to chance. Perhaps Fakir would not notice, but odds were that the unthinkable would happen.

Yet, Drosselmeyer wasn't a brilliant story-spinner for nothing. His mind raced through all the possible courses of action.

_1) Wait._ This was obviously out of the question.

_2) Blatantly walk into the room and pick up the paper._ A bit heavy-handed, he concluded. Fakir would have no choice but to feel suspicious.

WAIT! Since he was the creator of the story, shouldn't he have the ability to _stop time_ in the story? And hadn't he already _used_ it?

_3) Stop time, blatantly walk into the room and pick up the paper. _Drosselmeyer nodded with finality. Exactly what should be done. He had instant access into the room, despite the locked door, if he simply walked through the gear and into the world of his story. It shouldn't be too difficult to simply walk in, pick up the paper, and walk out.

There was only one problem with this idea. In order for Drosselmeyer to be able to walk through the world of the story while time was stopped, another character in the vicinity had to be moving as well. This would enable the entire story to move forward, so time still progressed in the story rather than staying held in place completely. Who should it be?

Fakir? No way he was letting Fakir see anything of the sort.

Who would would be near, yet oblivious to what was going on? As Drosselmeyer thought, he came up with the perfect answer.

"No time to lose!" Drosselmeyer cried, cheer restored. The gears that had been turning came to a complete stop, with Fakir, Ahiru, Mytho, and Rue frozen on their faces, and Drosselmeyer joyously leapt through into Fakir's practice room.

* * *

In addition to being an accomplished choreographer, Autor had always prided himself on being the lead piano player for the school orchestra. Autor was playing the piano, his fingers nimbly dancing across the keys, when he became aware of a sudden cold stillness that descended on his chest...and all sound from the orchestra suddenly ceased.

Autor looked up, confused, to see the musicians frozen along with their music. His first thought was that it was all an elaborate prank, and yet upon closer inspection he saw that this was anything but. Pages half turned, hands stilled on violin strings, breaths left waiting to be blown into flutes...

Time had stopped. Autor shuddered, unsure if he was hallucinating or completely insane.

He rose from his piano seat, and although he felt it would be futile, proceeded to wave his hand in front of his friends and implore them to respond, to listen, or come back to life.

As he had feared, none of them blinked or twitched in the slightest. His gaze swiveled over his immobile orchestra members despairingly. With defeat, Autor slumped back onto his piano seat...

...only to be greeted by the sweet swelling of sound in his ears, and the prompt exclamation, "DAMNIT AUTOR, WHY'D YA STOP PLAYING?"

* * *

As soon as she got out of class, Ahiru raced to the classroom where Fakir had been dancing to check if he was still there. She found the classroom empty and the door unlocked, so she quietly stole in and began searching for the paper. The note she had written was nowhere to be found, despite how she searched.

Finally, Ahiru came to the conclusion that Fakir must have gotten her warning. Why, then, hadn't she become a duck? Was Drosselmeyer planning something evil?

"We'll have to teach you a lesson you'll never forget!" Drosselmeyer fumed as he paced back and forth. "You can bet your life that I'm planning something horrendously evil!"

* * *

The next morning, Ahiru yawned, stretching in her bed. For some reason, she had awoken by herself before dawn, so the sky was still a faded gray. She hadn't turned into a duck yet, and a feeling lurked in her stomach that something had gone wrong. "Dance class tonight!" She said somewhat cheerily, hoping that Fakir had received her note. "And-" She looked down, knowing she needed to keep quiet. "And, um, dancing. Right."

"The nerve." Drosselmeyer's voice boomed. "The nerve. To think you could hide...from _me_? To actually believe you could outsmart..._my_ plans? How foolish."

"I know what you tried to do." Drosselmeyer hissed. "It seems I shall have to keep you in check."

"Well, then why didn't you turn me into a duck already!" Ahiru yelled back. "Let's get this business over with! Turn me into a duck, let Fakir live, and laugh evilly for the rest of your life! I'm sick of this!"

"Ah...the stakes shall become much, much higher." Drosselmeyer said, fixing her with a lethal glare. "Since you cannot obey simple instructions, I'm afraid I will have to make the curse...more of a _curse_, I daresay."

"Shut up and turn me into a duck for the rest of my life. See if I care." Ahiru shouted back, sounding braver than she felt.

"Upon sunrise, you shall transform into a duck."

Silence. Even though she had dared him to follow through with his promise, Ahiru's hand clapped over her mouth in shock.

"And you shall remain a bird until sunset each day, when you are free to become Ahiru or Odette once more. Be warned, for if anybody sees you as Ahiru transform into a duck, or a duck transform into Ahiru...I shall strike them dead."

Ahiru was paralyzed with fear. She couldn't reply, for her heart was frozen in her chest.

"Class." She barely managed.

"Rehearsal is always after dark, isn't it? So are some of your classes. But the rest...I am afraid you will not be coming to them anymore, Miss _Duck_."

"I..."

"You needn't worry about attendance. You will suddenly transfer to an independent study, becoming the most reclusive girl the school has ever known. But instead, you shall be _here_, lamenting the futility of your hopes as a mere _duck_." Drosselmeyer snarled. "And if you ever try to disobey _any_ of my orders again...or warn Fakir of _anything_ in _any way_...well..."

With a single motion of his hand, a rotating clockwork gear floated above the ground. The image on it swirled, until Ahiru made out...

"Pique!" Ahiru said, seeing the purple-haired girl sleeping peacefully in the bed beside that of their sadistic blonde friend. "Lillie!"

"They are not important to our story. I suppose we can do whatever we please with them..." Drosselmeyer mused. "Perhaps I can use the purple-haired one as a test subject for transforming into different animals through writing...and maybe even induct the other one into my evil tragedy-writing ways...Or I could simply kill them both."

"This is getting really, really dark. And evil." Ahiru said, furiously brushing tears away from her eyes. "Fine, you stupid sadistic oddball. Just don't kill them."

"Good." Drosselmeyer said, studying her triumphantly. "Good. The next time you try anything like this, one of them dies. If your attempt succeeds? I dispose of them both. Got it?"

Ahiru nodded fervently.

"So...Ahiru. It seems dawn is approaching."

With horror, Ahiru turned to face the rising, golden sun.

"Farewell, my dear." Drosselmeyer whispered, and with a swirl of his cape he was gone. Ahiru backed away from the window, almost as if to hide from the sun, but the newborn rays gleaming from the sky had already struck her face in a warm sea of light. A smattering of white sparkles surrounded her, and when her sight cleared she was a tiny creature, helpless on the ground. She fluttered to the windowsill and stared at the sky as a fragile little duck.

Later, as they rose from their beds and began to prepare for the day, Pique and Lillie could have sworn that they heard a series of enraged, shrieking quacks from Ahiru's room, although later both of them would dismiss it from their memories.

"QUACK! QUAAACK! QUUAAAAACK!"

* * *

"No! My clothes! Eep!" Ahiru panicked as she turned around later that day, desperately searching for some form of cover. When she'd become a duck, she'd immediately thought that she could simply sit near the fountain in the sun. While it was incredibly boring, she didn't want to draw attention to herself. However, when dusk had fallen, Ahiru found that she'd forgotten the most crucial fact of all: she hadn't brought any clothes. "Why did this have to happen to me?" Ahiru said to herself frantically. "Someone's going to see me!"

"Ahiru is a normal creature, my dear." Drosselmeyer's voice whispered from nowhere. "Clothes do not magically appear on her body."

"So?" Ahiru snapped, forgetting her fear. "That's the stupidest excuse I've ever heard of."

"But Odette..." Drosselmeyer's voice trailed off sinisterly. "She will _always_ be dressed in the elegant guise of a magical ballerina princess. Perhaps you should reconsider transforming into your alter-ego."

Ahiru quickly concentrated, desperate to regain some form of decency. Within moments, she beheld the delicate golden bracelets, felt the white feathers in her hair and a shimmering crown atop her head, and looked down to see the elegant white ballerina's dress. In haste, she sprinted towards the woods, knowing that she couldn't remain here for long and especially not while like this. Once she had run a safe distance away, Ahiru sighed and leaned against a tree.

""You know what you must do." Drosselmeyer whispered, suddenly beside her.

"Go away." Ahiru returned, knowing that as dire as her situation had become, she couldn't obey him.

"My dear, you forget our bargain. Fakir must not only leave you, but fall in love with Odette." Drosselmeyer walked around so that he stood right in front of her.

"No. I won't let him."

"Really?"

Ahiru remained silent.

"That would be a most unwise mistake."

When she didn't answer, he laughed. "It seems I will have the perfect tragedy after all. You wish to retain your human form at the price of his life? To let him die while he is writing you to your salvation? How delightful. I couldn't have guessed that you were this selfish."

Ahiru's heart chilled in her chest. _I can't let him die. I'll do anything to save him. Anything._

Ahiru blinked up at Drosselmeyer. "I can't." She whispered, her voice becoming strained. "I don't want him to love anyone else."

"That's the entire point!" Drosselmeyer said impatiently. When she folded her arms defiantly, he shrugged. "Fine. I have set my terms. We shall see who wins, my dear."

"Fine." Ahiru returned with unbridled ferocity. "Go back to your evil lair and laugh." She closed her eyes, and she had become Ahiru, fully dressed and capable of walking in public. "I'll be going to rehearsal."

"Which would you rather rescue? Fakir's love for you, or his life? Sayonara, sweetheart." Drosselmeyer whispered. "Until we meet again."

Ahiru knew that deep within her heart, she harbored the desperate hope that Fakir couldn't fall for the swan beauty, no matter how pretty she was.

* * *

The next day, Ahiru had a plan. She found that she despised being trapped indoors as a duck, for everything seemed huge, unforgiving, and endlessly confusing. She found being outside much more enjoyable. This time, however, she would _not_ stay out for too long, and be sure to return for at least one hour before sundown. The little duck sighed. This was all so confusing, and she absolutely _hated_ being a duck.

Well, being a duck in itself was not unbearable, but the fact that she couldn't communicate with _anyone_ or do _anything_ useful was beginning to get on her nerves. With a sharp quack, Ahiru fluttered out her open window onto the ground and took a long, roundabout walk towards the flower gardens.

* * *

After morning and afternoon and evening had gone, Ahiru judged that the sun would set in about thirty minutes. Plenty of time to begin the long walk back home and make it safely into her room.

Of course, nothing was ever that easy, was it?

"OMIGOSH IT'S THE CUTEST DUCK I'VE EVER SEEN!" Two hands swooped out of nowhere and grabbed Ahiru by the belly.

"QUACK QUACK QUACK!" Ahiru screeched, fighting as hard as she could.

"Lillie, leave the poor thing alone." Pique chastised, although she was holding back giggles at the sight of Lillie clutching the ferocious yellow fluffball.

"But it's ADORABLE!" Lillie laughed. "Look at the cute little thing! She looks so sad! Tell me, little duck, how are you?"

Ahiru shook her head frantically, unable to respond. _Lillie, this is animal abuse! Put me down right now!_ She looked to Pique for help, but Pique was hiding a smile behind her hand at Lillie's antics.

Lillie held the duck close, and Ahiru could hear her babble on and on. "Pique, I always feel terribly sorry for animals. They age so much more quickly than we do, and this little duck will DIE before either of us turn twenty-five! Just think of it! I wonder if she knows! But ducks can't think, so she's stuck in ignorance FOREVER!"

"Lillie, what if that's a boy?" Pique asked, half-jokingly.

"I _know_ it's a girl." Lillie said fiercely. "This one is too small and cute to be a boy. Wait! I know what I'll do. This little duck will be my pet. I'll carry her around with me because she's so cute!"

"Do you think she _wants_ to be your pet?" Pique laughed.

"Of course!" Lillie pouted. "And I'm going to name her Duck!"

Ahiru was looking about wildly, seeing the sun slip further and further down the sky as its light dimmed. Time was running out, and she had to escape. She let herself go limp temporarily, and Lillie cooed with joy as her grip on Ahiru became looser. "See? She loves the idea of being my pet!"

_Not in a million lifetimes,_ Ahiru thought, and with the greatest force she could muster, she leaped from Lillie's arms and made a mad dash for the girl's dormitory.

"No way!" Lillie screeched. "I'm going to catch you, Duck!"

Ahiru was suddenly stricken by the realization that there was no way she could make into her room without Lillie seeing her, and Lillie could run much faster than Ahiru's little duck wings ever could fly. Most likely, she would be caught again before she even had the chance to make it into the dormitory.

Ahiru's path veered away from the dormitory and towards the forest as the light of the sun became a wavering red. She had to disappear amongst the trees, just like a real duck would, so Lillie wouldn't get suspicious or be able to catch her. She didn't stop at the edge of the forest, though, for fear that Lillie would come after her. She kept on flapping until she reached the lake, alighting gracefully on the waters.

She would transform in a couple of moments, and _the total absence of clothes_ hit her like a ton of bricks. What could she do?

Remembering Drosselmeyer, she concentrated so that she would become Odette rather than Ahiru. Clothes appeared naturally on a magical ballerina princess, and what Ahiru needed right now was some semblance of decency.

The water rose around her in a magnificent iridescent dome, falling away slowly in swirls of blue and white sparkles as she felt herself rising above the waves. Ahiru looked down at herself, marvelling at the exquisite beauty of the swan maiden. Never before had she been surrounded by a gorgeous curtain of water, nor had she seen such a spectacular show of twinkling sparkles at her transformation. And, apparently, Odette could walk on water. Perhaps-

-she looked up, and met the sharp green gaze of the very last person she had ever wanted to see. Ahiru felt the sudden urge to cry at the unfairness of it all, and she knew that somewhere, Drosselmeyer was laughing hysterically.

Fakir sat there, clutching his notebook and a black pen, staring in confusion at the beautiful swan princess that had risen from the water before his eyes.

**End of Act 4**


	38. Act 5: Sorry You Got Dragged Into It

Warning: We are nearing the end. As the story becomes progressively darker, I feel obliged to mention that from here on, character death is entirely possible. Not in this chapter, but just saying.

**Chapter 39: Sorry You Got Dragged Into It**

As if in a dream, Fakir put aside his notebook and pen to stand. Her delicate, doll-like features reminded him of someone else, although he couldn't stop to remember the name now. The swan girl seemed genuinely distressed, her fearful blue eyes darting left and right furiously.

"Hush. Don't be frightened." Fakir said soothingly. "You're safe."

Had he just witnessed a duck transform into a girl? So that meant...the mysterious swan maiden actually was... a _duck? _

She took a hesitant step towards him, and then another. "Don't be afraid." Fakir repeated, not knowing what else to say. Suddenly, she burst past him in a flurry of white feathers, sprinting for the shelter of the dark trees. On instinct, Fakir caught her wrist. "Hey! Who are you?" He demanded, ignoring the pleading look she gave him.

The girl sighed, wringing her wrist free of his grasp but not attempting to escape once more. "Another damsel-in-distress who happened to be running around the forest. You might have guessed the curse by now. It's very unoriginal, isn't it?"

"In the least the sorcerer had the sense to use a duck instead of a swan." Fakir said, a smile starting at the edges of his mouth.

"It's very frustrating." The girl said emphatically. "No one understands me while I'm a duck. There's also some very scary people who want to make me their pet. I suspect I would end up eaten."

"That would be disastrous, wouldn't it?" Fakir remarked. "Not to mention verging on cannibalism."

"Incredibly." She agreed.

"I'm guessing your name is Odette?"

"What else would it be?"

"Who cast the curse?" Fakir asked curiously.

"An evil, evil fiend." Odette breathed. "He's the most sadistic, terrible man alive, except for possibly one girl I know, and he promised me that I would be the heroine of a terrible tragedy. I really don't think you should get involved, because anyone who tries to help me will probably die."

"That's all right. There are worse things than death." Fakir replied.

She looked rueful for a moment, as if she had anticipated his answer, but was silent. A question was on his lips, about to be spoken: _Do you know anything about Drosselmeyer?_ He quickly swallowed it. If this the character of a fairy-tale before him, was he supposed to be part of the fairy-tale as well?

"Prince Siegfried." He said quietly, barely loud enough for even himself to hear. His rational mind suppressed his initial conclusion._ N__onsense, Fakir. You were destined to be a knight. Mytho's knight. Don't you remember? He is the true prince._

_But he told me to leave. He rejected my service._ Fakir told himself stubbornly. I_ am a knight no longer. Only what happens next shall dictate what I become now. I__ might be part of another story. The story of Swan Lake,_ Fakir told himself. _Only this time, I'll decide the ending. I won't have to write a word, but I'll give this princess a happy ending. I swear it._

"At least he gave me clothes when I turned back into a human." Odette said matter-of-factly, brushing off her white tutu.

"Even evil has standards." Fakir returned, earning a slight smile from Odette. "He didn't give you a tutu for nothing. They're meant for dancing, you know."

"We're probably supposed to dance a pas de deux." Odette observed. "It's to be tragic and melancholy, love-struck and bittersweet."

They both knew what was expected of them. "Of course." Fakir said, and Odette blinked, realizing that her hand was already in Fakir's, his firm hold already settling on her waist.

Without another word, they whirled into the pas de deux of the Swan Queen and her Prince. It was everything Odette had predicted it would be, but merely on the level of characters acting out a staged play. Neither had truly owned their roles yet, although Fakir suspected that would come with time. How could he love a strange, beautiful girl he met at the lake when his heart still ached daily? Neither grew short of breath, nor tired, and Fakir knew with certainty that he had entered a fairytale as Prince Siegfried.

"I'm sorry I brought you into the story." She said sadly, when they had made the graceful transition from dance to sitting beside the lake. "Sorry you got dragged into it, I mean."

"I dragged myself into it, moron." Fakir said, somewhat teasingly, and a flicker of remembrance came into Odette's eyes. "It's all my fault. Don't worry about it."

"So the tragedy is all your fault?" Odette asked.

"No. We're going to end the tragedy." Fakir answered defiantly. "You'll see. I'll make sure that the curse is broken. Wait. What do I have to do?"

Odette closed her eyes with thinly veiled anguish, a grimace twisting her lips. "I can't tell you." She finally answered. "I can't."

Fakir was silent. "Well, I'll find out, and then I'll save you from whatever it is." Fakir said, nodding with satisfaction. "And I'll get rid of that evil fiend if it makes you happy. How's that sound?"

"Terrible." Odette muttered sarcastically. "I'd absolutely _hate_ to be rid of an evil curse, wouldn't you?"

"Luckily, I've never had to find out." Fakir returned, and he realized exactly who she reminded him of. Not only was the resemblance uncanny, but so were the quirky wit and cheerful innocence that made him smile. Uncomfortable as the realization was, he quickly pushed it out of his mind.

"Lovely, my dears!" Drosselmeyer cackled. "Simply lovely!"

* * *

Ahiru frowned at herself in the mirror. Night had fallen, and she was due at rehearsal in fifteen minutes. After rehearsal, however...

She did enjoy being around Fakir and talking to him, but she was beginning to feel as if she had made the wrong choice. After all, what was the point of becoming someone she was not? Trickery didn't sit in Ahiru's nature without considerable resistance.

_He's going to die if you don't do this, you moron._ A voice oddly like Fakir's spoke in her head. Ahiru nodded resolutely, tucking in her abdominal muscles to lift herself higher en pointe. She could do this. She would be strong. Surely being a duck couldn't be that bad.

"Ahiru. I need to talk to you. I couldn't find you during the day, so..."

"Autor?" There he was, glasses shining thickly. He took a step closer.

"Yes?"

"Look, I've got this suspicion…" His expression seemed downright odd. Ahiru wondered what he was thinking.

"And?" Ahiru waited not-so-patiently for him to finish his thoughts.

Seeing the no-nonsense look on her face, he collected himself. "Nevermind. Anyway, we're starting costume rehearsals. The big show is really soon, so we'd better be ready. How are those fouettes going?"

There was a tangible frustration in the air. Both of them knew that this wasn't what he had originally intended to say. Yet, Autor felt doubt seeded within himself and couldn't tell Ahiru about what he thought of the nature of their world: that they were all living in a story controlled by a sadistic creator. Ahiru was simply annoyed at Autor and his silly mannerisms, even though she would have readily confirmed his suspicions.

Ahiru, with an aura of contrariness, told him, "The fouettes are going very well, thank you. Would you like to see?"

He shook his head. "No. I'd best be going." Autor hesitated, as if wishing he could say more.

An excited girl burst in through the door and nearly trampled poor Autor. Autor stumbled on his way out, straightening his askew glasses. Pique came after, and upon seeing Autor she hurried after him.

"Are you all right?" She asked with concern.

"Yes, yes, of course." Autor returned briskly, continuing with his usual air of confidence. "See you in rehearsal." He brushed himself off and strode away, as Pique looked after him with a barely restrained sigh.

"Come on, Pique." Ahiru said gently.

"He'll never notice me." Pique's brow furrowed. "He still loves Rue. It's all so messed up."

"I know." Ahiru answered. "I know."

"Ahiru! I haven't seen you in like FOREVER!" Lillie cried, and Ahiru jumped. Ever since she had been a duck, she looked at Lillie from an entirely different perspective, as in _I might be forced into being her pet at any moment._ Luckily, Lillie didn't seem to notice. "You cute little thing, practicing all night even when we don't have class! But don't forget, we have rehearsal in fifteen minutes!"

Ahiru genuinely smiled back. "You guys are amazing."

Five minutes, a walk to the rehearsal building, and several frenzied outbursts later, Ahiru was listening to the story of Lillie's love life.

"AND HE LOVES MEEE!" Lillie said happily.

"And you two are perfectly suited for each other." Pique said somewhat sarcastically.

"No, they really are." Ahiru answered with a hint of a smile.

She was later to see that, despite her doubts, this was actually the case. In dress rehearsal, Femio not only presented Lillie with a bouquet of white roses but also complimented her with profuse enthusiasm. Of course, he was also lamenting his own greatness, but everybody was used to it by now.

"O woe is me! Fair maiden, you can barely withstand my great beauty! You possess such strength of character! But when I regard the rest of the onlookers…" Femio made a dramatic flourish of his hand at the general passerby, "…then I see that I am in deserving of terrible punishment! How terrible that I am so amazing! How tragic that I am so manly! It can scarcely be described with words." After the first dress rehearsal, he had deigned to walk Lillie and her friends to the gardens. He made it clear, however, that he only cared about Lillie's presence.

His keening gave Lillie great joy as she clutched her bouquet. "Of course! It's so cute that you just can't stand yourself!"

"You understand my situation perfectly! Such wisdom! How can you bear my sheer magnitude of gorgeousness?" Femio asked earnestly. Pique and Ahiru exchanged secret giggles at his descriptions of himself.

"I must say that it's because I understand how you feel so well! I'm psychic!" Lillie proclaimed.

"Are you?" Femio queried.

"Of course! I can always tell when people are feeling unhappy or misunderstood. I'm always joyful to know what they're feeling!"

Ahiru had to shake her head at Pique, who facepalmed with abandon. This ludicrous conversation continued. By the end of it and, later, numerous other encounters involving Lillie and Femio, Pique and Ahiru were convinced that the two were meant to be together.

"I get it!" Pique told Ahiru on the next day of dress rehearsal. "He tells her about how he suffers from his own handsomeness, and we all know Lillie loves that kind of thing."

"Yep." Ahiru replied. "Perfect match."

Pique found the solemn ghosts in Ahiru's eyes hard to explain. Pique struggled for something to say to brighten the brooding mood, but came painfully short. After all, Pique's own love life was nothing to be overly proud of either.

They walked back to the girls' dormitory in silence, until Pique unexpectedly asked, "So what's up with this Independent Study I hear you've been taking? We never see you during the day anymore."

Ahiru, roused from thoughts of her informal appointment later that night, simply looked at the moon without answering.

Pique shrugged. "Ok, Ahiru."

* * *

Fakir's hand moved towards the hilt of his sword (which he had begun to carry everywhere with him, even to the lake) as he watched Ahiru walk towards the girls' dormitory that night. His chest still ached when he thought of how he'd been so stupid, and she so traitorous.

"What are you doing?" Autor said, suddenly appearing at his side. "Why are you looking suspiciously violent right now? This is weird right?"

"You are so ignorant of everything that is going on." Fakir snarled. "Get out of my way."

"Hold it!" Autor said, standing right in front of him. "I know more than you think!"

Fakir yanked Autor upwards by the collar, a fist poised to strike him in the face. "Don't test me right now." Fakir growled, and both knew who held the advantage.

"What've ya got against Ahiru?" Autor said obnoxiously, disregarding Fakir's furious expression. "The entire school thinks you're the meanest person ever because of how you treated her. Even Femio's manlier than you are now. Do you know what that means?"

Fakir's expression darkened, but he released Autor. Autor sighed gratefully as his heels collided again with the ground. Still, he couldn't resist another verbal barb.

"It means you're not."

"Go away." Fakir said, his voice ominous. "Go. Away."

Autor sighed and left. For as brilliant as he could have believed himself to be, Autor had never guessed that Fakir and Ahiru were a part of the story as well.

* * *

Against her better judgment, Ahiru was beginning to enjoy talking with Fakir again, even though he had no idea it was her. The witty banter, the thoughtful remarks, the subtle you're-a-moron jokes were all in their conversations, their dances beautiful and fluid yet raw and heartbreaking. The fact that his companion was a swan princess didn't seem to stop Fakir from routinely calling her a moron.

"It's odd, you know." Fakir had told her one evening. "I've always wondered if stories could ever come into our world. Or, if our world is actually a story. That would be wonderful, wouldn't it?"

"Not even." She answered dubiously. "Sounds like a nightmare to me."

"Moron. Depends on who's writing it." Fakir said briskly. "If it was me, everything would be all right at the end."

"If it was you, we'd have nothing to worry about. But it isn't."

"Hey! Don't tell me you know who's writing everything!" Fakir protested.

He caught her mischievous smile as she said, "All right then, I won't."

Drosselmeyer hadn't compelled her to find Fakir each night and talk to him or dance with him, but she had done so anyway...simply because she missed Fakir.

Once, she had told him how lonely she was, for the only time when she felt truly alive was at night when everyone was asleep. That night, he had stayed beside her until dawn. When she became a smattering of sparks before his eyes, she saw him fall to his knees to search for the small yellow duck he knew must be there. That look of tender devotion...she had missed it so.

She felt her little duck heart warm while she snuggled against his chest for the hour before he had to leave. The tired dark circles beneath his eyes were forming entirely because of _her_, she realized, but she couldn't tell him to go away and rest. Not when they had such precious little time left.

But she was ensuring that his tragedy would play out, just as Drosselmeyer had said it would. She had become a simple marionette, prey to the workings of fate.

_I am going to be a duck. I might as well talk with Fakir while I can. Once this mess is over, he can quit staying up the entire night._ So Ahiru consoled herself as best she could. She wondered if she would now be stuck with this triple identity: duck by day, lovely swan princess by night, and Ahiru in her heart.


	39. Act 5: Sealed His Doom

**[a/n]** Femio, Lillie, and Pique also get dragged into Mytho's evilness. Fakir, meanwhile, discovers a sudden hatred for locked, sound proof doors...and forced marriages.

**Chapter 40: Sealed His Doom**

"And then, we walked together and then we looked at the stars. And it was so romantic! We tried to find shapes in the stars. He found a rose. I found a beautiful girl who was tragically dying from poison that her jealous ex-lover had slipped into her wine. He also found another rose. And then that crazy costume director came by and told us to get MARRIED, so we did!" Pique said sarcastically to Ahiru the next night. "Oh, I'm Lillie, and Femio looooves me!"

"Hold it!" Ahiru said, suddenly panicked. Lillie would never have allowed Pique to imitate her for this long, especially without having interrupted with an indignant shriek.

"Lillie, say something."

"What?" Lillie asked.

Ignoring Pique's scandalized looks, Ahiru seized Lillie's shoulders and looked into her eyes concernedly, hoping that her suspicions would not be confirmed.

"No. No!" Ahiru whispered, unwilling to believe that this had happened.

For Lillie's eyes had become blank, emotionless amber.

"Say something, Lillie!" Ahiru said frantically. "Say something!"

"I…what do you want me to say?" Lillie asked.

"Anything! Tell me, what did you think of how Pique mocked you?"

"I don't know." Lillie answered, becoming silent.

"Lillie! What happened? Why did you…"

"Nothing." Lillie replied. "Nothing happened." All of her usual quirky humor and obnoxious sadism were gone. As if that wasn't enough, all of her emotion seemed to be gone as well.

Ahiru's breaths became shallow. Had she just lost one of her best friends? To who? What had happened? Overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of hopelessness, she felt tears welling in her eyes.

Remembering Mytho, a surge of renewed energy welled in her chest.

"Was it him, Lillie? Mytho? Was it him? Did you talk to him?"

"I don't know. I think I talked to him. Maybe he asked me something." Lillie responded, turning away. Pique, also feeling that something was wrong, came next to Ahiru to study Lillie.

"You're being odd, Lillie." Pique said matter-of-factly. "What's the matter?"

Out of nowhere, Femio's voice boomed as he bounded energetically towards them. "Lillie! My dear Lillie, how are you today? I trust you are well, my lovely songbird! I have an urgent thing to tell you." He paused dramatically, and Pique shot a knowing look at Ahiru. "My gorgeousness cannot spare me of due punishment!" Femio said with great melancholy. "We must punish this poor sinner!" Lillie gave no response, looking blankly into his earnest violet eyes. Femio tilted his head, confused.

"It's all Mytho's fault." Ahiru muttered wildly. "I knew it." Pique's eyes narrowed, and Femio cupped a hand at his ear dramatically.

"Lillie? Ah, I see. Is this your punishment? Refusing to speak to me, leaving me alone without companionship? What a fitting punishment you have designed! Lillie, you must be a goddess, a muse of inspiration for punishments for this poor sinner!"

Pique felt alarm creeping up on her at the realization that Femio would soon realize that Lillie was _gone..._and then _Pique_ would have to deal with him. "Ahiru, help me-" she began, reaching to tap Ahiru on the shoulder, but her fingers met empty air.

She whirled to see Ahiru sprinting away with urgency. "WAIT! Ahiru!" Pique called, but it was no use.

"This is too cruel!" Femio wailed at the emotionless Lillie. "How could you have come up with such a monstrous plan to torture me?"

"With very little effort, I'm sure." Pique said dryly, folding her arms. She tried to squelch the resentment she felt towards Ahiru for leaving her in this predicament, but someone did have to remain here to make sure things didn't get out of hand.

"I have to find him!" Ahiru said to herself as she ran, feet pounding against the pavement. "I know he has something to do with this!"

"Okay! Let's see how that works out for you...if you can manage not to get your heart stolen!" Drosselmeyer added with glee.

* * *

She found him dancing in an empty room. There was something in his movements—he was suddenly so different from the Mytho she knew. His dancing was raw, powerful, and graceful all at once. His arm swept over his head as he tilted his chin upwards in a victorious look, and then he had whirled out of that into another instant, strong and formidable as he reached for the sky.

Ahiru had never been scared of Mytho before. Somehow, her heart shuddered in her chest when she saw him. Was she making the right choice?

Yes, yes she was. For Lillie. Ahiru had always been one to trust her intuition, and she knew without a doubt that he was the cause of all this.

"Ahiru, I have something to ask of you. I've been trying to rehearse on my own for the production, but I don't have a partner right now. Would you mind stepping in so we can take it from the top of the pas de deux of Act 2?" Mytho asked, gentlemanly as ever. He could see that the girl was wary, shooting him suspicious looks when she thought he wasn't looking. Although she accepted his offer of dancing, he knew she would take a while to win over.

Which was one of the reasons why he wanted her heart. It was a test of skill, of strength, of daring. As well as another way to hurt Fakir.

Ahiru looked down at her pointe shoes, which she was still wearing from after class. "No. Don't you have Rue?"

"I'd like to dance with you, Ahiru." The earnestness of his expression gave her a double-take.

She sighed, wishing he didn't seem so honest. "Only for a couple of minutes. Then we really have to talk."

Ahiru shouldn't have agreed. She knew it from the moment his hand enveloped hers. Ahiru had the feeling that she was playing a dangerous game, one she couldn't lose.

There were two things she didn't notice while they danced. She didn't see Fakir, catching a glimpse of them dancing together and then sprinting furiously for the door. Secondly, she didn't notice how Mytho caught sight of Fakir, slid to the door, and locked it with a subtle movement of his hand.

"Music would be lovely, wouldn't it?" Mytho observed, losing no time in turning on the music player so that an elegant melody filled the room.

"It's been long enough." Ahiru said, after five minutes. "Mytho, we—"

"Why don't we talk and dance?" Mytho suggested. "It's certainly easier and more enjoyable."

"…Sure, but—"

"All right then." Ahiru's unmistakable innocence didn't prevent her from noticing that his touch was more sensual than she would have liked. In arabesque, she focused on keeping her leg straight and maintaining the arch in her back as she reached for the sky. Ever since her lessons with Fakir, giving all of her effort to dance had become unconscious. But she had to keep her focus on Mytho.

"Mytho, I've noticed that all these girls have amber eyes, and they're acting strangely emotionless. It's a lot like you were, once. And-"

His long-fingered hands on her waist suddenly spun her around when she least expected it, and out of habit Ahiru tucked her limbs into pirouette position. Unexpectedly, her hand was jerked upwards, and her leg unfolded towards the sky as Ahiru found herself leaning far over backwards, somehow still en pointe and supported only by Mytho's grip on her wrist.

She barely came up for breath and managed to say, "That's not part of the-"

"I like to spice things up a bit. Spontaneity is nice, don't you agree?" Mytho returned, as calmly as ever.

Now as Mytho lifted her into the air, Ahiru was thankful for Fakir's instruction. It was only because of it that she avoided looking at the ground and panicking. Instead, she adopted a graceful grand-jete position (like one that might appear in the middle of a leap) and continued talking, refusing to let the distance of the ground distort her perception. "What's going on is not normal. I think you have something to do with it."

"Really? And why is that?"

Her feet had briefly touched the ground when he hoisted her into the air again. Ahiru clenched her jaw. Was he trying to make her lose her concentration?

Now she was sitting on Mytho's shoulder daintily, much the same way Fakir had taught her to. However, she knew with a chilling certainty that if she were to fall, Mytho would not launch himself backwards in order to catch her.

Ahiru was even farther from the ground now as she tried to resist the urge to cling to Mytho's shoulders in a vain attempt to keep from losing her balance. "Because of how you act. It's like you've changed. You used to be one of the nicest guys I knew, and now it's like you're trying to pull off some major crime or something. You've got to stop whatever you're doing."

Mytho suddenly knelt, tilting his body backwards, and Ahiru lost whatever semblance of composure she had maintained as her head plunged towards the ground. It was only when her entire torso had followed and she felt as if she was truly about to die that she realized that he still had a tight hold on her waist.

Almost paralyzed from shock, she fought to keep from losing her calm completely. "Hey, that wasn't very nice!" She called, her body bent over backwards on his shoulder.

She heard him chuckle. "I've got you." He said to her, "Although that was supposed to help you come down." Ahiru highly doubted this, but she allowed him to raise her higher so she could sit up again. Quickly, she fidgeted until Mytho had to put her feet on the ground once more.

Once that had happened, she wasted no time in leaping away from him.

"That was entertaining, but I don't have an answer from you." Ahiru demanded testily. "Lillie's just lost her heart, and I just _know _it's because of you. I'm telling _you_, Mytho!"

"Stop what?" Mytho asked, walking towards her. The fringes of his pale hair swayed over his angelic features as he folded his wiry arms. Ahiru had to admit she found him remarkably attractive. "Why don't you tell me exactly what I have done?"

"I…I don't know what you're doing, but…" Ahiru faltered at his genuine expression.

"I may have acted strangely." Mytho said, "But it's for another reason."

"Because you're a heartless soul-stealer." Ahiru managed, her own heart beating faster and faster.

"I'd hoped our pas de deux would make the truth clear to you. It is, after all, a dance for two…a dance to express love."

"Silly goose." Ahiru retorted. "You and I both have been to partnering classes dozens of times and partnered with practically everyone. You don't love everyone you dance a pas de deux with. That's just stupid. Now, it was fun practicing and all, but still!"

Mytho's eyes narrowed, as if he was asking himself why she was being so stubborn.

"No. Because my heart belongs to you." Mytho said, his voice smooth like silk. "I've never been able to talk to you, but I always hoped you returned my feelings."

Ahiru could barely shake her head. "You never…"

"Yes. I always did. I hope you know that I…love you."

At her shocked silence, Mytho quickly guided her into series of turns. The world whirled around Ahiru—she hadn't been prepared for it, or even had time to spot her eyes in the mirror as she went around—and she tried to stop for a moment to catch her breath, but Mytho was insistent. Again, another round of turns.

Mytho caught her in an attitude pose as her arms curved above her head.

"You're very pretty when you're flushed, Ahiru." She heard Mytho say. "Perhaps we should do this more often."

Ahiru's thoughts were scattered, and she could barely manage a nod as her cheeks became bright pink.

Mytho gently spun her around to face him. His insistent violet eyes were all that she could see, and a soft, long-fingered hand supported her chin, caressing her cheek.

"Do you love me, Ahiru?"

Ahiru became unable to move, transfixed in place and lost in his violet eyes. Her innocence was about to lead to her downfall. He was standing exceptionally close to her, smiling at her confusion. Her hands quivered, her pulse raced, and she couldn't think clearly, feeling dazed by the thought that Mytho could want _her._ Her breath caught in her throat. She drew in a long breath to speak, but stopped at the sight of…_wait, what?_

A dull thudding sound, almost as if on the glass of the window? Behind Mytho, she could see, through the window, Fakir standing outside and waving a small sign frantically. What did those magenta capital letters say?…she squinted, trying to make it out. _STOP! TRYING…STEAL YOUR HEART…NO! STOP!_

Ahiru blinked. Wait. Did this mean…

At any rate, she didn't love Mytho. So she certainly shouldn't tell him that she did.

"Never." Ahiru cried, shoving him away roughly.

"I could never love you." At memories of Fakir, her fury ignited. "Go to hell." Ahiru said, with quiet rage. "You can never have my heart."

Ahiru drew back her hand, and before he knew it Mytho had a stinging red mark on his cheek.

She pushed him away with unbridled anger, knocking the unsuspecting Mytho to the ground with uncharacteristic force. After she had drawn back a safe distance, she added in a lethal tone, "Now I know how you steal your souls, King of Hearts."

Mytho could only watch in stunned silence from the floor as she shot him a death-glare worthy of Fakir and stalked away. He distinctly heard her mutter, "_Idiotic moron,_" before she slammed the door loudly.

She had become a bit of a problem.

Yes, she needed to go. The sooner the better.

And he really needed to come up with a better euphemism for murder.

* * *

Fakir stopped in his tracks when he saw Mytho and Ahiru dancing together in a tender pas de deux. Alone. Fakir let out a short breath.

_Damnit_. _She's going to ask for his heart! I have to...do something!_ With a frenzied cry, he leapt for the door to their room, only to have his hand catch on the locked doorknob. _She must have locked the door!_ Fakir realized, as he pounded on the sound proof door with abandon.

Luckily, there was another way.

* * *

Hermia's eyes widened at the sight of the heartthrob of the school—tall, dark, and mysterious Fakir—before her. He seemed oblivious to how she gawked at him, instead hurriedly explaining to her that he would need to borrow a marker, no matter which color, and a sheet of paper.

Hm…since the color didn't matter…Hermia smiled to herself as she handed him her trusty pink felt pen and a sheet of paper. She curiously watched him as he scrawled a short message on the sheet of paper. He was careful not to let her see what he wrote, she noted, and he almost tossed the marker back.

"Thanks!" He called over his shoulder, clutching the paper to his chest as he sprinted away.

Hermia sighed. As talented and handsome as Fakir was, there was no denying that he was a bit insane.

* * *

Fakir waved the sign desperately, standing as close as he could to the glass. He didn't want to break the glass, but he still slapped his palm flat against it urgently, over and over. He didn't care if Ahiru saw or heard, but the important thing was to save Mytho. _Mytho has to see it! Please, Mytho!_

"MR. FAKIR!"

_No, _Fakir thought. _Not now!_

"WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING, WAVING AROUND A SIGN LIKE THAT?"

Fakir quickly hid the sign against his chest and reluctantly faced Mr. Katt, the crazy marriage-obsessed Costume Director.

"And was I dreaming…" Mr. Katt said confidentially… "Or was the sign written with hot pink letters?"

Fakir could have growled at Mr. Katt. Mytho's heart was in danger—not that Fakir thought he could save Mytho now, but his conscience wouldn't let him give up—and now Mr. Katt was trying to sidetrack him with…

…Fakir suppressed a gasp of horror as it dawned on him exactly why everybody hated Mr. Katt. Age, sex, occupation, sexual orientation, and species were no barriers when it came to MARRIAGE.

"Are you looking to be MARRIED, Mr. Fakir? Don't you worry…for your sake, I'll give up my status as a single bachelor and—"

"THAT'S OKAY!" Fakir burst out. "I'll just leave."

"No!" Mr. Katt said. "Now, we're going to take you to the psychiatrist. It's clear you have an obsession with MARRIAGE. Do not worry, Mr. Fakir. It is only natural to want to be part of the honorable institution of MARRIAGE."

"I refuse." Fakir said flatly. "I shall not."

"Or else I shall have to force you to MARRY ME!" Mr. Katt thundered, and Fakir could have sworn that everyone within a two-mile radius was gaping at them. "And I shall make a recommendation for you to be kicked out of school for MARTIAL misconduct relating to MARITAL matters! I heard reports of harassment of an innocent little girl last week who could have MARRIED you, and now—talking back to teachers—refusing well-meaning attempts to help your troubled soul with MARRIAGE—it's only a matter of time until you end up—"

"Whatever." Fakir muttered. "I'm leaving."

"Under threat of expulsion," Mr. Katt bellowed. "Come with me, Mr. Fakir."

Fakir cast a last, helpless look towards the window where he knew Ahiru was stealing Mytho's heart before he allowed Mr. Katt to steer him towards what was hopefully _not_ a long, awkward interview with a psychiatrist.

Moments later, Ahiru emerged from the building and searched for traces of Fakir in vain. He was nowhere to be seen.

A hallucination. She was finally losing her marbles. She had been thinking about Fakir for so long that her brain had created an image of him holding a sign written in pink...and about stealing hearts, too. Why would he do that, anyway? It didn't make any sense.

Ahiru didn't know what to think of Mytho, but she certainly wasn't going back in there. Ahiru let out a prolonged breath. _I've finally gone crazy._

She looked almost like Fakir when she smiled. It was more defiant than meek, more sarcastic than conciliatory, more a challenge to the world than a smile.

_Fine. So I've gone crazy. Bring. It. On._

* * *

"I _really_ need to leave." Fakir said, fingers drumming on the table.

"Mm-hm._ Very…impatient_." The turquoise-haired woman wrote calmly. "Now, Fakir. Tell me about yourself."

"Well, I don't want to get married to Mr. Katt or talk to a psychiatrist." Fakir retorted angrily.

"_Rebellious…doesn't like…following orders._" The woman said, regarding Fakir cooly.

Fakir crossed his arms. "I'm only here because I don't want to get expelled. Although I'm pretty sure he can't expel me by himself."

"_Despite…initial resistance…secretly abides by rules…_"

"Okay, this is kind of silly." Fakir observed. "I didn't even know we _had_ a psychiatrist. Who _are_ you, anyway?"

"I am Miss Edel." The woman said, her voice smooth and almost robotic.

Fakir simply glared at her.

"As a matter of fact, we do not have a psychiatrist. I am not one myself."

"WHAT?"

"Your lunatic of a teacher seems to think that we do, so I simply took advantage of that fact."

"Then what the hell are you doing here?" Fakir demanded.

Miss Edel's blue eyes suddenly became clear and sharp. "Because I want to warn you. _Do not let yourself be led astray by appearances_."

"Wait…what?" Fakir said, eyes narrowed.

"That is all."

* * *

"Please, mademoiselle! Persuade your friend to break her vow of emotionlessness and speak to me with true feeling!" Femio begged. "Please! I can't stand it!"

"I, um, ah, can't help you." Pique answered uncomfortably. _  
_

Lillie, meanwhile, stared at the ground. "I'll go mad from the unhappiness of it! How could she do such a thing?" Femio asked, gesturing to the silent Lillie. "I know she enjoys watching me suffer but this...this is too much!"

Pique, however, was lost in thought.

"Mademoiselle! Please! Please, help me! What are you thinking of? Ways to help me out of this terrible trip of woes?"

"No. Yes. I mean yes." Pique said wearily. This prompted another bout of wailing from Femio.

"Look." Pique said finally, feeling sick of all the drama. "It's not Lillie. She's not trying to make you suffer."

"Then why is she-"

"I think it's because...well, Ahiru said..."

"Yes, what did the little red-haired mademoiselle say?"

"Uh, that her heart had been stolen? That she doesn't have emotions because...she has no heart?" Lost in her musings, Pique didn't see Femio's eyes become a deadly shade of indigo.

"And which insufferable bastard did this?"

"_SAY IT."_ Drosselmeyer hissed. "Say it and seal your dooms!"

"Mytho." Pique said, nodding decisively. "Ahiru said it was Mytho."

Pique sighed slowly, happy that Femio had become silent and the drama was over.

Femio turned to Lillie, his voice loud and urgent. "I swear, I will AVENGE YOU MY DEAREST! Lillie, how could such a thing have happened? I will make sure that he pays for his crimes! I will not rest until he knows full well the consequences of stealing hearts! And then-"

"NOOOO!" Pique cried desperately, but the overly loud drama wouldn't end anytime soon. _Knowing Lillie, she's probably doing it on purpose._

_"_You really shouldn't have said that, dear Pique." Drosselmeyer whispered. "People's lives will pay the price. Ah, but there is one ray of hope soon to be destroyed, for our heroine has escaped with her heart...but at what cost?"


	40. Act 5: Silver Blade

[A/N] It hasn't been too long since the last update, right? Also, forgive the cliffhanger, if you can.

**Chapter 41: Silver Blade**

"Can I talk to you?" Autor asked.

"Yes." Mytho answered, coming down from his balance in releve.

"Listen." Autor continued in a hushed whisper. "I think we're all in a story. I've been noticing that a lot of the girls have become cold and emotionless in rehearsal… and their eyes are a most curious shade of amber…I can't help thinking of you, even a month ago, because your eyes were the same color, and you seemed just as emotionless…almost as if you didn't have a heart. Now, I've seen you becoming more expressive. So..."

Mytho's expression was inscrutable.

"Anyway, I was wondering if you could tell me anything about this…mysterious affliction. Did you have it once?" Autor genuinely believed that Mytho would try to be helpful and that this would elucidate matters greatly. He was even hoping that Mytho would tell him what was going on with the dark swan princess and Rue.

"No." Mytho turned away.

"Please!" Autor said earnestly. "You have to tell me. It's too interesting not to wonder about!"

"I'm sorry, I cannot help you." Mytho answered. "Good day."

Autor was forced to nod curtly and walk out. Little did he know that Mytho was alarmed at this turn of events, for someone was perceptive enough to pick up on what was happening.

Autor would have to be disposed of.

That made two of them.

* * *

Mytho, however, had much bigger problems on his hands than simply disposing of Autor and Ahiru.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS? I WILL HAVE YOU PUNISHED, YOU TERRIBLE SINNER! OLE!"

"AAAAH!" Mytho cried as a stampede of bulls charged on top of him, knocking him to the grassy ground. He spat out a mouthful of dirt, and then swiveled around with a look of horror to face Femio. "Wha...wha..."

"Aha!" Femio boomed. "So at last you see! OLE!"

Mytho, who had begun to dust himself off, was once again run into the ground by the hooves of several stampeding bulls.

"Where...all the bulls...what?"

"You are a despicable sinner! Almost as despicable as I!" Femio cried.

Mytho coughed, not having the energy to respond.

"BECAUSE OF YOUR SINS!"

"Leave...me...alone..." Mytho wheezed, covered in hoofprints.

"Serves him right!" Ahiru had appeared out of nowhere, and with a stormy countenance she strode past.

"OLE!" Femio proclaimed, "Pay for your CRIMES!"

"This is ridiculous." Mytho said weakly. "Just leave me alo-AHHH!"

* * *

"Mytho, dear? What happened? Are those...hoofprints?"

Mytho looked away, seeming a little embarrassed, and Rue decided to drop the subject. They were sitting together at a slender white gazebo, which at night became an ominous cage of stark lines and shadows. Rue could not suppress the thought that it fit her situation perfectly.

"Mytho, what is that?" Was that a dagger she saw in his hand? It took all her willpower not to tackle him and seize the blade.

Mytho turned and smiled at Svanna. "Do you remember how I once told you of my expertise in matters of the heart?"

"I do."

"Let it suffice to say that I have also become an expert in matters of stealing hearts."

"Have you killed anybody?" Desperation mounted in her voice.

"No. There are things worse than death. A while after I first arrived here, I became soulless. My heart was an empty void in my chest. And you… restored my feeling to me. I still do not know how you did it. Some people have become, to put it lightly, emotionless."

"Who?" Raw hopelessness overpowered Rue. She had single-handedly transformed Mytho into a monster.

"Many girls. They haven't died, to use the proper sense of the term. Simply their hearts. Do not let it worry you."

"But why?"

He gave no answer, leaving her to tilt her head towards the sky in despair. Yes, she was truly trapped in that dark cage, and had no hope of escape.

* * *

Rue held Mytho's hand tightly offstage, ignoring the annoyed looks he gave her. She hadn't forgotten that he didn't love Rue as herself, but in a few precious moments she allowed herself to pretend.

She came across the stage as demurely as Odette would. Mytho, clothed in his regal finery, stepped behind her with pronounced curiosity.

The conductor motioned for the violin to begin their pas de deux. Of all the parts of the ballet, this was the one Rue loved the best. Here was when Odette allowed herself to believe that it was possible to attain everlasting love, when hope filled the air. It was now that Rue could identify most closely with her role.

Rue felt his hand on the small of her back, guiding her into an arabesque. The look he gave her was filled with disgust. Rue ought to have been used to it by now, but she wasn't. It hurt every time. She clung to his arm and let go with pitiable hesitance.

Now she stood en pointe, ready to begin her pirouettes. With a shock, she realized that Mytho held her wrist with a painful grip above her head. Rue saw something she had never seen before—anger in Mytho's eyes. They were deep violet, filled with insurmountable wrath.

He yanked her wrist upwards, skewing her off balance, and let go with contempt. Rue, completely unsuspecting, fell against the floor.

She looked back upwards in fear. Mytho's hands had become fists. He was saying something with cold fury, something she couldn't hear. Something about the difference between real life and stories. It didn't matter what he said. Not anymore.

She ran fast, as far away as she could. The cast parted for her in respect, yet tittering whispers were abound.

"Rue! RUE! Come back! Don't be a drama queen!" Autor's voice rang out behind her. Rue burst out of the theater and sprinted, her pointe shoes banging against the concrete with unforgiving smacks.

"Just trying to get attention. She'll come back eventually." Fakir muttered after she left. "Idiot."

Rue could have tolerated Mytho's empty looks, his far-away smiles. But this, this was completely different. Mytho held her in disdain. Not only did he not love her, but he looked down upon her. Svanna owned him completely.

This was too much to bear. She collapsed somewhere—she didn't know where—and rocked back and forth, empty shudders wracking her body.

"Rue!" A soft pattering of steps approached. Rue looked up to see Ahiru, also dressed as Odette..

"Rue, don't worry. It's okay." Ahiru knelt next to Rue as she offered her empathy to the older girl.

Rue drew in a prolonged breath. No tears had flowed down her cheeks. For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to cry.

"Rue, let's go back." Ahiru cast a worried look at Rue.

Rue remained where she was for a moment. Painfully, she stood.

"Besides, you don't want your pointe shoes to get ruined, right?" Ahiru asked.

Rue gave her a half-smile. How could Ahiru be so happy when her own relations with Fakir were so strained? Perhaps that happiness was Ahiru's way of hiding some larger flaw deep within.

"Ahiru, I'm sorry." Rue said. "I...I'm sorry for everything."

The younger girl held her gaze with unblinking blue eyes, and then turned away. "Come on." Ahiru said quietly, devoid of her usual cheer.

They arrived together back at the theater. There was a visible relief in Autor as he settled back down with his notebook and pen. The titters increased. Rue noticed that Ahiru seemed somewhat sorrowful.

Rue dusted her tutu off and prepared to begin the pas de deux again. Mytho had no hint of regret. This time, she understood. Her heart, now cold as ice, shivered in her chest.

* * *

"We meet again." It was sometime past midnight, and Rue was in the guise of Svanna._ I hate you for not loving me. How could you love a bird-apparition that doesn't exist? And yet it's all my fault. I made you love her. I deluded myself that it was okay for you to love her. Now you do_.

_I hate myself for it._

Mytho was examining his long silver blade when she approached.

"You don't need your dagger, my prince. How many hearts have you taken?" She asked.

"Until now I have only stolen hearts." He murmured quietly.

"You can't do this anymore." Her voice rose to a plea as she abandoned the pretense of formal speech. "Please. Don't take any more hearts. I don't know why you're taking them, and how this whole deal even works, but please listen to me!"

He gave her a look that clearly said, _you don't understand anything_. "All shall become clear in the end. I promise."

"No! I refuse to let this go on!"

"Do not worry yourself. As for me, I shall upgrade my practices one step higher. It is quite different to take a heart…than to kill a person." His voice slithered along like a deadly snake.

If there had ever been a time when Rue had been afraid of Mytho, it was now. Her breath stole out of her chest in a single swoop. "My prince…"

"Maybe tomorrow." He mused.

"Who are you planning to kill?" She asked in a hushed tone filled with terrified awe.

"That one…young man…the bespectacled one…I believe his name is Autor." Inwardly, Mytho reasoned that he would not tell his princess about his plans to kill Ahiru. She might harbor some attachment to the innocent little girl, and that might be problematic later on. He would be sure to leave no trace of his deeds. However, a lowly choreographer with no charm who the princess had no way of knowing?

"You can't." Rue returned quickly. "We need him for our...I mean...your rehearsals. You can't kill him."

"They'll find another." Mytho said unconcernedly. "It matters not at all. When he was talking about tragedies…I doubt he imagined he would ever find his own doom in one."

Rue's pulse quickened. Mytho would kill Autor. Immediately, she remembered Autor, kneeling next to her, asking if she was all right. Autor, obnoxious and arrogant. Autor, always concerned for her well-being despite his pride. And this was murder they were talking about.

"No." She said.

"What did you say?" Mytho asked. His eyes glimmered an evil purple.

Rue wouldn't let this happen. She simply wouldn't. This evil had gone on long enough. So many hearts had already been stolen.

Mytho sighed. "Do not think about it. He shouldn't concern you at all. Remember, we belong to each other."

When he turned and left her there, she saw murder in his eyes, and she wondered if that dangerous glint in them would ever turn against her. Mytho walked away through the dark, whispering trees with the blade hidden in his palm. Could he steal her heart as well?

Her gaze fastened on the opposite bank of the lake. "Fakir." Rue said curiously. "What's he..."

Indeed, she could make out Fakir, sitting beside a red-haired girl with white swan feathers adorning her hair. Rue recognized her as..._Ahiru's swan girl form?_ Yes, it was definitely a magical swan princess. They seemed to be happily engaged in conversation.

"Drosselmeyer. What are you doing?" Rue said aloud, remembering how Fakir and Ahiru seemed to be giving each other the silent treatment.

"That must mean that he doesn't know who she is." Rue told herself. "And it's a tragic love story of epic proportions. Drosselmeyer, you evil creature." This set up seemed suspicious to say the least, but she had no time to think of Fakir and Ahiru. Instead, her thoughts turned back to the drama of her tragic love life.

* * *

Pique sighed happily. It hadn't really been a date, but it could have been for all she cared. It was about eleven in the night, and the stars sung above them.

"Thank you, Pique." Autor said from beside her.

"You are very welcome." Pique returned. She had offered to help Autor check that the set-up, the costumes, the transitions, and everything were in place. Most of it had involved busywork such as counting tutus, straightening props and checking that they were fully functional, and waiting while he talked with the crazy Costume Director and the Orchestra Conductor and other various important people, but Pique didn't mind a bit. Just being next to him was enough for her.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Autor told her, all businesslike. "I'm going back to the theater to check something."

"Bye!" She said, waving as she made her way toward the girls' dormitory.

It was a while before she saw Mytho. Pique saw him long before he saw her (he was looking down at a flash of silver in his hand) and she didn't like his smirk. Quickly, she hid behind a hedge.

"Where can you be, Autor? It is time to dispose of you…" She heard Mytho's voice say, and saw with horror that he was striding towards where Autor had walked. Pique didn't know what Mytho was planning, but if Autor was the intended target…

Pique hoped that the silver object wasn't…

Yes, it was. A long, ornate dagger clenched in Mytho's palm confirmed the worst of her doubts. She couldn't hope to reach Autor in time.

And suddenly his shadow had stopped before the hedge she had hidden in.

"Greetings, Pique."

The dagger was gone from his hand. Somehow, he leapt in front of her in a matter of seconds, his amethyst eyes hard like the crystal itself. Before she even had the chance to speak, his honeyed voice layered over her ears.

"What a surprise to see you here, Pique. You're looking lovely, as usual."

Pique fought to keep her wits about her. "Mytho, you—"

"A chance surprise to see you here…if not for this moment, you may never have found out where the true allegiance of my heart lies."

Pique found her breath caught in her throat at the sheer monstrosity of it. "No…"

"Yes…you must believe me. I love you, Pique, and I have always loved you."

The muscles in her hands quivered. How could he be so convincing? His angelic features were made into white brushstrokes by the moonlight.

"Wait..." Pique said slowly. "Are those...hoofprints?"

Mytho looked at the sky in exasperation. "Why do people always have to ask about those damn hoofprints?" He demanded. "You love me, right?"

A small smile stole across Pique's lips. "Good for Femio." Pique said. "I guess you got what you deserved. And don't ask me if I love you, because I don't. Besides, I know what you're planning." Pique added stoutly, gathering strength around her like a blanket. She wasn't as naïve as Ahiru, who had almost succumbed to his charms because of her innocence; indeed, Pique could be characterized by a more practical, scrutinizing nature, which was precisely what might have saved her in this specific encounter.

"And I won't love you. I refuse."

"What am I planning?" Mytho asked, looking for all the world like a sad prince rejected by a beautiful princess.

"To kill." Pique said matter-of-factly. "You can't do it. I know you're a good person somewhere in there. You'd never have done this before. I don't know what's gotten into you, but I know this isn't the real you."

For a moment Mytho looked conflicted, and then his violet eyes were sharper than ever. "So you believe you know all?" He asked, although it was more of a threat than a question.

"How foolish you are, little Pique."

With that, he smiled victoriously. "You cannot save him."

"I can shout. I can shout and warn him, right now. He'll hear me, even though he's walking towards the theater." Pique said, and instantly she knew two things. Firstly, shouting was what she should have done rather than embroiling herself in this game between spider and fly. Secondly, she had made a very, very costly mistake.

"How interesting…The theater..." Mytho said, and there was that dagger in his hand again. As quick as lightning, the silver blade traced the hollow of her chin. "Are you sure you'd like to do that?"

To think that her life was in the hands of Mytho…who turned out to be a cold-blooded killer…and that she had actually thought there was good in him that could be retrieved…

"He'll see you." She managed, unable to move against the tip of the dagger. "He'll see you, and then he'll flee."

"That's why we're going to finish this as soon as we can." Mytho returned menacingly. "Farewell, Pique."

It was futile. She would die, and so would Autor. Was there anything she could do?...

Maybe.

Pique pressed her lips together as she prepared herself.

"No! Wait!" She said, struggling against what she was about to do.

"I'll…I don't know why you want me to love you, but Ahiru told me that you stole people's hearts…and you must have a reason…why you're doing…it…" Pique's jaw clenched as Mytho tilted his head, the dagger not leaving her chin.

"Anyway, I'll…I'll give you my heart…if…if…you promise to leave…him…alone….you can't kill…him… Besides, if you…"

"Silence!" Mytho whispered harshly. Yes, it would be problematic to kill the girl here. He had plans for Autor's death, but the girl would be troublesome to murder as well.

Besides, if they both disappeared at the same time, it could cause suspicion. And she would become a lifeless shell after this…almost as good as dead…and there was nothing preventing him from killing the boy after he had stolen her heart.

"Very well." Mytho said, his voice taking on the likeness of honey once more. "Tell me…Pique…and think well before you answer…

"Pique, do you surrender your heart?"

Pique closed her eyes, pausing briefly before her eyes snapped back open to glare at Mytho with indignant, headstrong determination. _For Autor. I'm saving him. Besides, I have no choice._

"Yes."

* * *

The thought tortured Rue. After Autor, who knew who else would die at Mytho's hands?

Mytho was now a homicidal maniac. Or perhaps an incredibly handsome evil genius. Either way, Rue was to blame.

Rue remained where she was after Mytho had left, struggling with herself. On one hand, Mytho was her prince. She loved him and trusted him…or at least she should. But no matter how much she loved him, allowing him to murder was simply not an option.

She knew she had waited far too long. Maybe Autor was dead even now, disposed of in some place where he would never be found. But she couldn't stop herself. Suddenly, her feet had flown into a full sprint, and she flew like a black swan on the edges of the wind. She could only hope she wasn't too late.

She found Mytho looking with contempt at a girl…Pique, Rue remembered…

"I am the King of Hearts. I will kill him." Mytho said, in a low fierce tone.

The girl merely returned his glare with an empty amber-eyed gaze, like a lifeless china doll.

"What good can your bargain do you now?" Mytho asked evilly. "You thought you could save him…well, your heart is mine. Farewell, sweetheart."

His hand rested on the nonexistent pulse of her heart for a moment, and then, lifting his touch like a king, Mytho sneered as he extended his arm outwards.

"And you…begone." Without another word, the girl turned and walked away slowly in the direction he had pointed in, her blank eyes awakening a stir of dread in Rue.

"My prince!" She said. Immediately, his gaze turned to her.

"My princess!"

C_ould he steal my heart, if he tried? Could he be plotting against me, even now?_ Rue tried to persuade herself it wasn't something he would do, but realized that she didn't know who he was anymore.

He enveloped her in a warm hug. "Greetings, my beauty."

"Shall we spend some time together, dear prince?"

"I have business to attend to, so I'm afraid I must decline."

Her heart shuddered in her chest. "Is your business so important you have no time for me?"

Mytho looked almost regretful. "It is not the only business I must finish. I shall also have to dispose of that red-haired girl fairly soon, as well as that bespectacled young man. As soon as I have completed these tasks, we can…"

Rue wasn't listening. Dispose of that little red-haired girl…AHIRU? Mytho was planning to kill Autor _and_ Ahiru?

The situation had suddenly become a thousand times more horrendous.

"Please. I beg of you. If you love me, you will listen to me." Rue pleaded.

Mytho shook his head, but relented at Rue's melancholy look. "All right. Let us sit awhile at the white gazebo."

Another pas de deux. Rue lost track of how long they danced, for not only was she endowed with grace and lightness dancers could only dream of, but Mytho's energy seemed endless. He was just capable of executing difficult lifts and guiding her through turns as he had been at the beginning of their dance.

Mytho knelt before her, taking her right hand and resting it against his cheek. "I cannot stand the presence of another girls; they are like faint glimmering stars while you are the brilliant sun lighting up my sky."

"My prince."

She felt his sigh against her. "I have missed you so." He murmured. "You were everywhere; I saw you continually. You shall become the Queen of Hearts, my princess."

Rage erupted in Rue. Her lip trembled as her eyes began to fill with tears. Rue meant nothing to Mytho. Svanna was the princess he wanted, and Rue could never reach that type of beauty and grace. She had known it all along.

"Are you happy now, my princess? I have forsaken my duty in order to spend time with you."

He had been her everything, the reason why she existed. He had been the focal point of all goodness in her world. Now he was an evil prince who not only ignored her as Rue, but also stole souls with abandon.

"Yes, I'm happy." Rue lied, although the prevarication stole easily off her tongue. "Thank you, my dear. I love you so." That, she knew, wasn't a lie. She did truly love Mytho.

A terrifying thought stole through her mind. What if...what if she, right now...

A blade melted into existence from her black tutu, and Rue's eyes widened. She clutched the dagger in her palm... and with hard determination held the jagged edge mere millimeters away from his back.

The blade hovered still closer to Mytho. Rue loved Mytho still, for everything he had ever been to her. Yet, she couldn't let him murder the innocents. Nameless emotions swirled through her, rocking her to the core. _You made him into this monster! And now…_

In her ears, she heard the sound of Drosselmeyer cackling an evil, sadistic laugh. Her heart thudded, and she could barely see Mytho's white head of hair, resting peacefully on her hand. Rue was blinded by terror of Mytho, hatred for herself, intense loathing for Drosselmeyer, and the slow realization that Svanna wasn't perfect after all.

Perfection came with a price. In this case, that price was evil.

_Forgive me, Mytho._

Seized by a sudden urge to distance herself from this evil prince, Rue let the lethal blade plunge deep into his back.


	41. Act 5: The Cursed Prince

**Chapter 42: The Cursed Prince**

The dagger cut sure and deep into his heart. Already repulsed by herself, she yanked the blade out and stared at silver stained bright red.

When he staggered from her, already she could see the dimming light in his eyes. "My princess..." he managed. A small rivulet of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

And suddenly a maniac grin lit his face. "My princess...scheming to murder me, I see. I should have known." Rue would never admit it, but she was terrified. The dagger dropped from her hand onto the ground as she took a step backwards.

"What would you say..." he smirked, but Rue suspected it was to hide the pain twitching at the corners of his mouth, "if you knew that you could never kill me?"

"What?" Rue said. "How is that possible?"

"I don't belong to this world." Mytho coughed, and then wiped away the blood at his mouth. "The Land of Dreams. I was Prince there, at least until...well, now it give me life, this soul-snatching. Didn't you know? It is the only way I live. Once I have someone's heart, their soul flies to the Land of Dreams and I become stronger than ever before. Do you think me evil? Do you believe me an evil demon? Did you never love me?"

"I loved _you_." Rue cried. "The old you! The Mytho who was nice to everyone, and saved little birds from falling even if they _could _fly! But now, you're an evil monster. I won't deny it."

Mytho stared at her for a long moment. "You never knew the old me."

"What happened?" Rue asked softly. "Tell me. What happened?"

Mytho turned away, and his words were careful and deliberate. "I was cursed. Understand? I was once a virtuous, immortal prince cursed with _this_. I didn't want that fate, so I left my soul behind and descended to this world. I became _mortal, _I gave up everything, just so this would never happen. But something-" his breath hitched. "_Something_ started the tragedy. My plan failed. I would have grown old and died, never feeling emotions! I would never have become what I avoided at all costs!"

"And then she told me I could be saved. That witch lied to me. She said that true love would...well, I thought it might be _you_. But she lied. I was a fool for believing her. That liar..."

At the look of puzzlement in Rue's eyes, he folded his arms. "Don't play with me. I know she told you..." Rue watched as uncertainty stole into his face. "I know she did. I know it. I truly thought..." He shook his head. "I thought you truly loved me. I thought you could...that you could save me from..."

Rue started forward, arms outstretched, danger forgotten. "My prince, if there's any way I could-"

"No!" Mytho shouted harshly. "It means nothing! I knew it! I must suffer this fate forever. But you...you betrayed me. She _lied_." Pain was etched into his face. "She _lied_." He backed away from Rue. "Forever. Remember that, Svanna. Forever, I will remain like this. A damned demon! Snatching hearts to live, stealing souls!"

"You don't have to!" Rue cried, desperate to keep him from leaving as he slowly staggered away. "You could just stop, and-"

"I can't!" Mytho said, and for the first time he bent over, shuddering. "I can't." He straightened, and came towards her. Rue would have run if not for the genuine expression of agony in his eyes. "I can't stop. There's nothing I can do." He whispered, as if begging for help. "Nothing. You didn't kill me, Svanna." He paused for breath. "But I'll tell you what you killed. You destroyed my last chance, my final hope to go back. Now...I'm trapped. Forever."

Rue, frozen in horror, could do nothing as he disappeared into the dark, shadowy trees.

As soon as he vanished from sight, she fell to her knees abruptly, spent of strength. "Could I have saved you?" She asked forlornly. "Could I have?"

"I will be back." His voice came from everywhere, echoing sure and deep against the sky. "I will return, and I will have my revenge."

At least five minutes had passed while Rue stared blankly at the trees where he had gone, unsure of how to continue as her mind whirled in circles.

"The story is not over." An eerily quiet female voice said from behind her.

Rue leapt to her feet. "What do you mean?" She whirled around to see a benign-looking, doll-like woman.

"Would you like me to tell you what just happened?" The strange lady asked gently.

"Please."

The lady gave an odd smile. "I know how the story is fated to end if I do not intervene. And so, here I am."

Rue waited for her to continue. "So, he has told you he is resigned to a terrible fate. The fate of a soul-snatcher, an evil demon prince who was once the hero of his land. It is the cruelty of the story-spinner; he caused it to happen. He cursed our brave young prince with this; to never be loved, to wander forever with scores of hearts stolen through force but never the joy of true love. _This_ is the redeeming factor; true love is the only thing that may save him."

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Rue demanded. "I loved him throughout everything, but I can't allow him to just go around killing people!"

"It is not enough to simply _speak_ of your love." The lady said calmly. "That falls into his trap, and enables him to snatch your heart. In the end, true love is _sacrifice_. It's agonizing _pain_. It's the thought, the action that counts, not simply saying, 'I love you.' It is _this_ that will free him of the curse."

"So it's a curse that can be broken? If I use 'true love' or something?"

"Yes. Our prince has become a soul snatcher, but not through his own will."

"That makes no sense." Rue said. "Haven't I sacrificed enough? I did _everything!"_

_"The story is not over_," the woman said, and added: "I know of your deal with the story teller."

Rue hung her head in shame. "I'm sorry-" she whispered fiercely. "I was the one who set his tragedy in motion. It was the only way. I couldn't think of anything else-"

"I do not blame you. But the time is coming when you must prove the depth of your love. That is the only way you can save yourselves. Farewell."

"Wait!" Rue cried, suddenly unwilling for her to leave. With a wry smile, the woman turned around and strode straight into the shadowy forest beyond.

Without warning, tears started in Rue's eyes. She _had_ loved Mytho. She truly did. How could she save him? She remembered what Drosselmeyer had said: "_If you do what I say, I promise you...you'll be together in the end_." Wasn't that what she wanted?

She sat down slowly on the steps of the white gazebo.

The first rays of the morning sun glanced off the primrose-colored clouds and glistened on Rue's tear-stained face. She knew she had to leave. Dragging her limbs into a standing position, she remained in place for a moment in front of the slender gazebo, and then turned to walk away. Dewdrops dusted her ankles, and looking down at herself, she realized she was simply Rue again, not the elegant dancer who she had yearned to be for so long but no longer.

The sound of flickering flames startled her as she whirled around to witness the entire gazebo engulfed in an inferno against the dawn. The long orange tendrils of the flames caressed the withering structure of the gazebo, reaching up to the sky. Panicked, Rue backed away, although she found herself strangely unable to leave. Far above the flames, somewhere in the cloud of smoke and ashes, she could have sworn she saw a white bird soar into the sunset.

_You betrayed me. Liar. Murderer. Traitor._

His voice whispered to her, and she clutched at her ears, willing herself not to shriek. The burning smell of ashes covered her face as a thick cloud of smoke swept towards her. Rue stumbled backwards blindly, finally turning to flee away, far away from the blood only she could see on her shaking hands.


	42. Act 5: Capable of Murder Now

**Chapter 43: Capable of Murder Now**

Ahiru gave a quack as she hopped out of the fountain. She spent most of her days as a duck sleeping, trying to catch up on her rest. It wasn't easy to spend the nights dancing away with Fakir and still function normally without any nap time.

She waddled towards the base of the fountain, behind a bush, and folded her head beneath her wings.

"Hello, little duck!"

"QUACK!" Ahiru screeched, almost jumping a foot in the air with fright.

"Hey, I'm not that scary." Femio said pompously. "Do you hate me, little duck? It seems life has gone horribly awry."

That alone was enough to make Ahiru feel immensely sorry for jumping away from him. "Quack," she said, almost conciliatory as she fluttered out from behind the bush and onto the bench beside him.

"Huh," Femio gave her an odd look. "I've never seen a duck like you before."

"Quack, quack!" _Wouldn't have guessed. Of course you've seen a duck who's actually a magical ballerina princess who's actually a normal person who's still hopelessly in love with the man who she's supposed to lead to a terrible tragedy. You know, happens every day._

"My little duck, I am very sorry for offending you." Femio said, looking as if he was about to chuckle. Suddenly, his expression became downcast. "Talking to ducks? It seems likely that I have gone insane!"

"Quack?"

"However, I might as well. Oh, little duck."

Ahiru tilted her head, watching him soundlessly. Her wide blue eyes gave Femio pause, but he immediately dismissed the thought that she could have any similarity to someone he knew. Suddenly, the little duck began to quack incessantly. "QUACK QUACK! QUA- QUACK QUACK! QUAAAACK!"

"What is it?" He knelt to take a closer look at the wildly quacking duck. "Are you all right? Are you having a heart attack? Or is this some duck mating call? Or maybe you're just scared?"

He took no notice of how the duck's wings waved as if trying to warn him of something, nor of the shadow bearing down on him from behind.

Ahiru's loud quacking became horrified silence as a dagger sprouted from Femio's chest. His eyes widened in shock, and his feeble hand clutched desperately at the gaping, bloody void. Frozen with fear, Ahiru watched as he pitched forward onto the ground.

She couldn't comprehend the terrible reality of what had just happened. Petrified, she stared at the figure who stood behind him, silver and red dagger in hand. His smile was slow, calculated, and evil.

"Payback," Mytho breathed, evilly handsome in the guise of a dark raven prince. "Payback for that bull stampede. Cross me and you cross my dagger." His gaze fell on Ahiru, whose tiny heart hammered in her ribcage. She tried to avoid looking at the fallen Femio, but-

Mytho shook his head, his breaths coming faster as he spoke to the helpless little duck. Suddenly the evil evaporated, the frenzy of retribution gone. "You're scared of me, aren't you? You just witnessed a murder." He looked as if he was about to be sick, and revulsion was written on his face. "I just murdered someone."

"_I murdered someone_." Mytho said slowly, turning away as if he couldn't quite believe it himself. "I... I _murdered_ him."

Ahiru hadn't realized that she had been trembling until he stalked away. She was left alone with Femio, who stared sightlessly at the ground in a pool of dark red blood.

Tears welled in Ahiru's eyes as she stumbled back blindly to escape from the horrors of this world, away from Femio and away from Mytho and away from everything. She couldn't see, couldn't think, and an ominous fear rose blackly in her heart.

* * *

"Okay." Autor pushed his glasses up his nose haughtily. "This is not funny. Where is Mytho?"

His gaze scanned them all like an avenging searchlight. "Does anyone know where he is?"

At the resulting silence, Autor folded his arms. "You cannot simply miss rehearsal. Ever. And if you're the main character...and we're mere days away from the show..."

Rue shook her head. Of course Mytho wouldn't show up the next day. She had betrayed him, and now...would she ever see him again? Rue gave a heartbroken sigh. _Now_ what would they do? A couple of days before the show, and their lead dancer had suddenly disappeared!

"This is unacceptable." Autor ranted. "I repeat, does anyone know where Mytho is?"

Ahiru's breaths came harshly, and the scene replayed mercilessly in her mind. Nobody had seemed to realize the absence of Femio, but that would come soon enough. Femio hadn't deserved this. Sure, he might have run over Mytho with a stampede of bulls...and shouted 'ole!' several times...but he was a good person at heart! He couldn't have died!

"Ahiru?" Autor asked, peering at her curiously. "You seem to be a curious shade of green. Are you feeling sick?"

"No," Ahiru managed.

A sudden thought came to Rue's mind as she contemplated their surroundings. "So...where's Femio?" Autor's eyes widened as he realized that Femio was nowhere to be seen. Nobody noticed how Ahiru put a hand to her mouth, almost as if suppressing the urge to vomit.

"Femio gone as well..." Autor looked incredibly frustrated. "Two of our dancers suddenly gone! I will not stand for this!"

"We only have a couple of days," a calm voice came from the corner. The cast became silent with respect as Fakir continued. "We have to finish this rehearsal. If we can't find Mytho, I'll take the role of Prince Siegfried."

"What about the Femio's role, the jester?" Autor asked helplessly. "And what about _yours, _Rothbart?"

Ahiru turned to Lillie, almost expecting a giggle and a sly remark about how _Autor_ should be the one to try dancing, if he knew it so well. Upon seeing the blank, amber look in Lillie's eyes, Ahiru swallowed, knowing the task belonged to her.

"What about you?" Ahiru asked. "You should be one of them. You could be Rothbart. We need everyone."

"It's been _such_ a while since I've danced," Autor answered hastily. "And the costumes...I don't really know if I could redesign the choreography-"

"Of course you can." Rue folded her arms. If she was going to star in this show, it was going to have all of the dancers in it, and it was going to be spectacular. There was no way she was going to allow this performance to be cancelled after she had mastered her role. "Autor, you have to. We have a responsibility to make this happen."

"Fine." Autor sighed. "I'm warning you, we are going to have some major choreography changes. We'll see how this works out. And the jester? Just for this rehearsal, who will be the jester in place of Femio?"

"Oh, I know who!" Raetsel said, stepping forward. "Why don't we have Lysander do it?"

Lysander looked down. "Uh..."

"Just for this time." Autor wheedled. "It won't be too long."

"Uh, all right."

"Good." Autor raked a hand through his hair. "Hopefully, this will be all right. Femio and Mytho _must_ show up. And if they don't..." His furious expression made it abundantly clear that both deserved excessive punishment.

In a couple of hours, Autor discovered from detailed questioning that neither of the two had been seen that day. Autor, being practical as he was, would simply assume the worst: the production would have to continue without them.

* * *

Rehearsal ran to 2 a.m. that night. Autor repeatedly forbade them from leaving as he taught Fakir and Lysander the new choreography, frowned, rearranged dancers, and readjusted his glasses.

"I don't care if you're tired." Autor said, shooting a glare at the unfortunate girl who had asked to leave. "I don't care if you want to go to sleep. We will finish this. Understand?"

Ahiru covered a yawn, trying not to close her eyes for too long. She felt sorry for Rue, who had scarcely a break for the entire night, and for Fakir, who had to master so much new material in such a short time. Despite her resistance, worse thoughts came to mind, and her throat choked...how long until someone discovered Femio? What about Mytho? Would he embark on a killing spree after this?

"I hope they both turn up." Autor said disapprovingly when it had become clear that none of the dancers could continue any longer. "But if you miss a rehearsal...of course, an unexcused absence results in a dismissal from the production. But our main dancer! So, so thoughtless!" He gave an indignant hmph. "Anyway. Fakir, Lysander, report to the Costume Director tomorrow for fittings."

He paused, casting a judging look over the cast. "Good work. I expect you here tomorrow evening at seven-thirty. There is no time to waste. You are dismissed."

The dancers gratefully rose, gathered their belongings, and left.

* * *

Deep in the darkness, a shrill scream pierced the night. Ahiru's heart pounded, for she knew exactly what had happened...how terrifying must it be to walk back from rehearsal, at two in the morning, and find your classmate, murdered in cold blood?

* * *

Mytho lifted his face towards the black velvet sky. "I have killed." He murmured, an odd low tremor in his voice. "Revenge, yes. But he was an innocent."

Suddenly, he buried his head in his hands. "What have I become?" He demanded of himself. "_What have I become?"_

"An evil monster! How delightful!"

Mytho looked up, rage etched on his features. "You. You again."

"Of course it's me!" The old man exclaimed. "I foretold your doom. Did you think you could escape fate?"

"Don't come here and gloat." Mytho hissed. "I'm capable of murder now. I'll come after you, too. I'll come after you and-"

"Now, don't be silly. You can't kill me. And killing people doesn't make them like you." Drosselmeyer smirked. "It just makes them dead. Believe me, Mytho, you want to be on my good side."

"Why? Haven't you stolen everything from me?"

"Don't you wonder why you suddenly turned toward evil?"

"Well, wasn't it simply 'fate,' as you put it?"

"Fate, yes. But there was a specific cause...namely, a swan princess."

"She didn't do anything." Mytho said firmly. "She was repulsed by me. She betrayed me, but it was my fault. How could she love something like me? It was a natural reaction. No. I don't blame her."

"Ah, but it was all her doing!" Drosselmeyer answered triumphantly. "Everything was her doing! You would have been emotionless, continuing your normal life, if it hadn't been for her! She commanded the power of the story-spinner! She wrote of your demise, of your descent into evil!"

"Is she a story spinner? How can such a thing be?"

"Her words were written with such conviction that they became reality." His smile was wider than ever. "If you want to truly take revenge, you must take your revenge on _her_."

"Revenge on her?" Mytho wondered. "So she meant for this to happen all along?"

"You are too naïve," Drosselmeyer chuckled. "At least both of you are evil now."

"You know..." Mytho said, gazing at the ground, "In my fit of rage, when I killed, I saw this little duck staring at me. If ducks could speak..." he shook his head. "That duck's eyes spoke volumes. That duck looked at me the way humans look at a psychopath, as if I've become a loathsome devil. Which I am," he added. "But I don't think it truly hit me, what I had become, until that moment."

"Your musings are eloquent, if off-topic." Drosselmeyer remarked. "Be sure that you do not forget the cause of your tragedy." With that, he disappeared into the trees, leaving Mytho lost in his thoughts.

"That duck...there's something strange about that duck," Mytho murmured. "Almost as if..." He halted abruptly at the sound of frantic footsteps coming through the forest, and leapt behind a tree.

"Fakir?" Mytho whispered to himself as Fakir ran past. "What's he doing here?..." His gaze hardened as he remembered how Fakir had attempted to meddle in his life.

Silently, he strode after Fakir.


	43. Act 5: New Stamps for My Man Card!

**Chapter 44: New Stamps For My Man Card!**

Mytho was no stranger to stealth. He moved through the forest like a predatory creature, hardly disturbing even the grass he stepped on. Fakir, he noticed, had just arrived at the lake.

What? What was this? _Another_ swan princess? She seemed to be the exact opposite of Svanna: a lovely, angelic image of pure white, from the soft feathers in her crimson hair to the delicate bodice and tutu to the glittering crown on her head.

They seemed to be talking intently, fixed on each other as if nothing else in the world mattered. Mytho crept closer, being sure not to draw attention.

"I want you to be careful," Fakir was saying. "Remember the ballet I was telling you about?"

The girl nodded.

"Two of our dancers have disappeared. I don't know what's going on, and it's fishy to say the least, but I have the feeling that there's something out there that caused this. At any rate, just be careful."

"I will," the girl promised. "You too, all right?"

"Of course I will. By the way, one of the dancers that disappeared had the role of Prince Siegfried. Somehow, I knew he wouldn't be coming back. Something's gotten him for good."

The girl looked almost pained, but she let him continue.

"So...I volunteered."

"You did?"

"Yes. I don't know how wise it was...and I have to learn an entire new role in three days."

"If anyone could do it, it would be you. I might even come and watch."

"You?" Fakir smiled. "Seeing the real Swan Queen would make everyone very, very confused, especially at a ballet called _Swan Lake_. And I think Rue, who plays Odette, might become a bit jealous."

Mytho's eyes widened as the two shared a chuckle. The _real_ Swan Queen? Did this mean that this girl was actually a _swan_?

"Fakir." Odette suddenly became serious. "I just want you to know that you can distance yourself from this story at any time. I...don't want anything bad to happen to you, but for some reason..."

"Be quiet, idiot." Fakir folded his arms. "Don't talk about that. Nothing bad's going to happen, got it?"

"It's past two in the morning," Odette observed. "Aren't you tired?"

"That's the least of my troubles." Fakir muttered, despite the dull aching of his head that refused to go away. "Tiredness. Psh. Who needs sleep? Not me, that's who."

Odette shook her head. "No. Go rest."

"Fine. Be that way. See you later, moron."

As Fakir trudged back to the dormitories through the forest, Mytho tried to understand what exactly had just happened. Fakir had been secretly meeting a girl named Odette, just as he, Mytho, had been meeting Svanna!

Suddenly, Odette crumpled to her knees, covering her face with her hands. Her sobs were restrained and silent, but she wept as if heartbroken.

Mytho, utterly puzzled, couldn't possibly fathom what was happening in her mind. This scene had given him much to think about, and he melted into the forest like an unearthly shadow. Revenge on Fakir would have to wait, as Mytho had decided to instead focus the one who had begun the tragedy in the first place.

* * *

Fakir, meanwhile, knew that the end of the story was nearing.

He, who had taken on the role of the prince, was supposed to save the princess from the sorcerer's evil clutches. Sure, that sounded great. But didn't that mean he had to _love her? _Fakir sighed grumpily. He couldn't be sure of _what_ he even _was_ feeling.

He did care about her safety. Of course he didn't want her to be snatched away by some hawk while he was gone. Yet, did that qualify as 'true love?'

Probably not, he realized. Actually, true love might not even be required if he could write something for her. Fakir brightened immediately, storing the idea for future use.

The one thing he _was_ sure of was that both Mytho and Femio had disappeared. Fakir couldn't help but feel that it all had something to do with Ahiru; he didn't know if it was her fault, but most likely...

...he hadn't been able to save Mytho, but now he might be able to rescue Odette. That was what mattered. He couldn't dwell on useless thoughts about Mytho and Ahiru, and what might have happened. He could only attempt to help Odette as best he could; he was part of a new story now.

* * *

_Did you hear?_ Fearful whispers seeped into the walls, danced along the pavement, buzzed in the air. _It was a ninja who did it. Don't be ridiculous, it was a snake. No, snakes don't carry daggers. I know it was a person. But who would want to do such a thing? _

The official story would be that a poorly timed step caused an unfortunate fall, during which the victim hit his head and passed out.

It was clear, however, that nothing of the sort had happened. Ahiru felt tortured while listening to the whispers - she tried not to let what she had seen affect her, but her stomach still turned and her head still spun when the thought rose to her mind. _Femio, dead. Mytho, evil. Fakir, lost to me forever._

Yet it was Fakir who made the tears fall, who caused the most heartache.

_I thought it would be easy. After all, I'm meant to be a duck. I'd do anything if it meant I could save him, and being a duck isn't that much of a price to pay. At least he'll know that I loved him in the end, even when he'd hated me. At least I can play the part of the princess a while longer, and remain close to Fakir for a couple nights more. At least..._Ahiru shook her head as tears blurred her vision. _...at least I can say I've saved his life._

For she didn't understand how the curse worked, but she did know enough to say with certainty that Drosselmeyer would never allow both of them to have a happy ending.

* * *

Rue, who had arrived early to rehearsal the next day, sat down backstage and began to wrap her toes in preparation for pointe. She was startled by the sound of another person, who seemed to be warming up.

She quickly finished tying the laces around her ankles, stood, and found Autor, who seemed to be stretching. For the first time, he was dressed in a ballet attire rather than proper, professional clothes. Even more surprising, his glasses were gone, presumably replaced by contacts.

"Has it been a while?"

Autor gave a start at her voice. "Ah, um. Yes. I will be altering the choreography, as I previously stated, so I will be able to perform the movements. It makes me rather nervous, performing this with only three days notice, but luckily I do have a background in ballet. Do you feel ready?"

"The better question is, do _you_?" Rue asked insistently. She would not allow any mistakes onstage, not from herself or any of the cast. If Autor was going to be Rothbart, he was going to be good at it. Perhaps not as spectacular as Fakir had been, but it would be a quality performance nonetheless._  
_

"Ah. I've been practicing-" Autor said, but was interrupted by Rue.

"You'd better not fail. Do you want to run through the first part? You know, the one where I get turned into a swan?"

Autor looked at her as if she had offered to fetch him the moon. "Really?"

"We can't have you tripping onstage," Rue said crossly. "Come on."

"We have at least twenty-five minutes," Autor observed, "before the rest arrive. Perhaps it would be a good idea."

"Oh," Ahiru said to herself, upon arriving twenty minutes later. "Wow. I didn't know Autor could actually dance. Huh." She felt the brush of Fakir's arm on her shoulder as he walked by and caught the edge of his seething glare. Ahiru recoiled, retreating away from him. If she hadn't known him so well before, she might have thought him a grouchy moron who listed 'being mean' as a pastime. He seemed to turn into a different person entirely around her alter-ego, Odette.

_It's all Ahiru's fault_, Fakir thought furiously, and at the sight of her his suspicion solidified. _How could she? She's the one who made Mytho disappear. She's the one who tricked him into evil. It's all because of her! That idiot!_

And because these thoughts were too painful, Fakir abruptly quit trying to reason with himself and began warming up for rehearsal.

* * *

"I know what I will do." Mytho looked straight ahead, his voice flat and cold. "No one can betray me and escape unscathed."

"We have a plan, I see?" Drosselmeyer asked, striding towards Mytho. "A plan to end all plans?"

"I do not know if I will see her again," Mytho murmured, "but when I do..."

"...It shall be wonderful, gorgeous, and tragic!" Drosselmeyer finished happily, seized with a sudden joy that Mytho found incomprehensible. "Tell me of your plan!"

"Oh. Let us begin. First I shall-"

"No, no, don't ruin it!" Drosselmeyer loomed over Mytho menacingly. "Tell me the result. Not what you will do. The result. How do you believe it will end?"

"She shall lose her soul." With a deep violet gaze, Mytho looked directly into Drosselmeyer's bulbous, expectant eyes. "No different from the rest. That is all."

"No murder involved?"

Mytho hesitated, his composure slipping. "I cannot promise anything, Drosselmeyer. We already have a tragedy. Murder would not be out of place." His eyes flickered again with dusky shades of lavender. "But one thing will be different. I will show her my world, where I came from, and promise her that she will be my princess forever."

"Land of Dreams? The fairy-tale world?"

"Is that a smile on your face?" Mytho demanded. "Why are you laughing?"

"Why would you do such a thing?"

"So I have no need to return here afterwards. I can't stay here. Promises mean nothing to me, and a promise to her is as good as no promise at all. I've stolen enough hearts, but this shall be the final one. You see, it offers almost a sense of closure."

"You're a fool." Drosselmeyer said, all traces of amusement gone.

"I may be." Mytho replied stoutly. "But there's nothing you can do about it."

* * *

"Can I ask who you _are_?" Fakir queried, and upon Odette's puzzled look he explained, "Well, in all the stories characters have to have a past, right? For example, you were little once. You grew up somewhere. You had parents. All I know about you is that you're some princess under a terrible spell and all. Who, exactly, is this sorcerer? And who are _you_? Can we clarify that situation?"

"Not really," Odette sighed, hating herself for being so cryptic. Was Drosselmeyer watching them right now? Couldn't she just tell him the words that had been on her lips for so long?

_I am Ahiru. _

"Come on, moron." Fakir said, trying not to sound abrasive despite calling her a moron. "In the least tell me who the sorcerer is, then. Maybe I can try to write something to help you."

"No, no, don't do that!"

"Why not? I'm sure this sorcerer, whoever he is, doesn't have magical writing powers. This story would be over in an instant, and you could go back to leading a fulfilling normal life!"

"Ah...er..." Odette seemed at a loss for words, but Fakir lost himself in thought.

_I knew it. I just knew it. There's no way this isn't a golden opportunity to get another stamp for my man card. I can still be manly and awesome. Let's be honest, I've been lacking in the department of man card stamps for a couple of weeks now. This is fate! What will this new man card stamp be?_

_I know what! More than one man card stamp, for sure. Here we go:_

_1) Save innocent girl -uh, no, actually she's a swan princesss - from being turned into a swan by an evil sorcerer FOR ALL ETERNITY. Scary, I know._

_2) Save said girl using meta story-writing powers that trump the laws of reality!_

_3) Prove that I can play the part of the knight or the prince whenever needed. Need to defend a prince? Knight mode. Need to defend a princess? Prince mode. That's right. That's how it's done._

_4) Survive my first love __actually being a heartless swan siren out to get me. Or something. _

_5) Survive a tragedy, where everything's out to get me._

_6) All while being so undeniably manly that I deserve an extra stamp on my man card.  
_

"Hello? Fakir? Are you there?"

"Huh?" Fakir blinked as Odette waved a hand in front of his face. "Fakir?"

"Sorry. Just...uh, thinking about..." _some new stamps for my man card_ "...uh, dance practice. No. I mean the sorcerer. Yes. Right. And his curse."

Odette shook her head, but she was smiling. "Sure."

"And I'm going to write something for you. No sorcerer would stand a chance."

"What are you going to write about?" Odette asked intently. Fakir read panic in her blue gaze.

"Don't worry," Fakir said. "I just have to focus on this performance, on Opening Night, and then I'll be able to write something for you."

_And get six new stamps for my man card in the process. I can just see it...Fakir: 6. Tragedy: 0._


	44. Author's Note

**[A/N]** So, everybody, thank you for reading thus far!

I'm considering condensing and editing Swan Siren before I continue. I feel that this story has become overly long and might even have a lot of superfluous material that I can cut out. I think that it might be necessary to cut some parts (or even chapters) and reformat the story so we don't have as many chapters.

I have an ending planned, I promise. Just wait :) Thanks again!


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